


Walk in the Shadows

by NeuroWriter14



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood, Blood Bond, Blood Drinking, Do not repost, Explicit Sexual Content, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper, Hannibal assumes too much, Is it still cannibalism if it's a vampire?, M/M, Major character death...kinda, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:34:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 54,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24950089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeuroWriter14/pseuds/NeuroWriter14
Summary: To be like Hannibal Lecter is to live a life alone. Or so he thought. That is until one day, his mentee brought to his attention the most intriguing man. And he was captivated.
Relationships: Will Graham & Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 36
Kudos: 349





	1. Infatuation

Will could feel Hannibal's heavy gaze on him. They were standing in his office which was illuminated by nothing more than the fire within the depths of the room. Will had been all over his office and Hannibal had allowed it. It was strange to him, why Hannibal let him invade his space as much as he had. But the pieces had started to come together in his mind, and now they were becoming a reality. The fire crackled in the silence as he studied the other standing near him. The two of them danced around the subject, jabbing at one another with words as the skilled verbal boxers they were. Hannibal's pupils were blown wide, and his eyes kept flitting, something unusual for him. Will held his gaze when he caught it again. Hannibal moved forward swiftly, his footsteps light as ever, not making a sound. 

"Do you trust me?" Hannibal asked.

"Should I trust you?" Will let a little bite into his words. He hadn't forgotten everything. He hadn't forgotten what Hannibal had put him through. But he also knew more than he let on to the FBI or anyone else for that matter.

"I won't do anything you don't want me to," Hannibal's accented voice was soft but it echoed around him as though he had yelled. "I won't unless you say yes."

Will swallowed thickly. He watched the firelight flicker over Hannibal's features, sometimes making them sharper and sometimes making them softer. It was mesmerizing in and of itself and idly he wondered if the other was doing it on purpose. Hannibal was so close, they were almost touching. He found the other's eyes. He remembered once telling him he didn't like eye contact. How many exceptions had he made for Hannibal? How many had Hannibal made for him? Was this one more? 

He could feel the heat of the fire behind him. He could feel Hannibal's breath against his cheek. He could feel the other, even though they weren't touching, as though his nerves had been electrified. 

"Yes," He let out in a breathy whisper.

He heard Hannibal suck in a breath as he moved closer. "Don't fight. It will hurt if you fight."

"And if I don't?"

He could almost feel Hannibal's lips quirk as if they were his own. "You'll see."

* * *

Hannibal evaluated the file in front of him. There was something else in those vibrant blue eyes that wasn't quite captured in the picture. He set it aside and thumbed through the rest of the file. There was nothing in particular which caught his attention, and that's what made it and the man it was about all the more interesting. He had found interests over the years, but nothing intrigued him as much as the amount of nothing sitting in front of him. It should have made him gloss over it. He had seen patient files that were similar, he knew exactly how to handle people with the described set of neuroses and disorders. He could even handle a psychopath who was hiding behind a clever mask of neuroses and disorders. But this was intriguing. He wanted to meet the man behind the file, he wanted to see what else was there. Maybe it was those vibrant eyes, maybe it was the hidden light in those depths. Maybe it was something else entirely. 

He sipped his drink. It wouldn't do to meet the head of the Behavioral Science Unit hungry. He had perfected his guise over the years, honing his ability to look and pass as human. But even walking through packed places like the FBI could make his hunger flare if he wasn't careful. And he was always careful.

He stood and smoothed the already smooth lines of his suit. He was due at Quantico soon enough and if he didn't leave on time, he would be late. He was never late. He finished the last of his drink and washed the container in the sink hidden in the back room of his office. It still smelled vaguely of iron, but there would be no one else here to smell it, not that they would survive anyway. 

He stepped out into the cool air. Cold rarely bothered him anymore. It had when he was younger, still human, and it had after he had first transitioned. Since then, he rarely felt things like everyone else. He supposed it was the price he paid for his age. His emotions were limited. Curiosity, anger, annoyance. Those were normal for him. He hadn't felt love since he was human but he also hadn't felt profound heartbreaking sadness. He had wondered, from time to time, if those emotions were human or if there was nothing in the world that could make him feel those emotions again. He had watched people die, either by his own hand or some other reason, and yet he rarely felt much toward it. He had seen people, humans and others, he had known for a long bit of time die or leave and yet he never cared. Perhaps it was strange. Mostly, he knew that the detachment helped him when it came to his current profession. It was easier to treat patients when he could keep himself separate. Their problems were never his, just a puzzle to solve. 

He parked his Bentley and rose from it in a swift movement. The drive was easy when lost in thought. He was stopped only once upon entering the building, but soon he was on his way once again to find the office of Jack Crawford. During his time at Johns Hopkins, he had mentored several students including one Alana Bloom who continued her work at Georgetown. The two had remained in contact, one might even say friends, after her time under his mentorship and it was her who referred Jack Crawford to his doorstep. 

A psychological profile.

He found Jack's office easily. The man was exactly as he remembered. His voice was deep and commanding, stemming from years in a leadership position. His grasp was firm as Hannibal offered his for a handshake. He knew the man was used to commanding a space when he entered but also knew he had soft spots for those he considered his own. Among them, the man in the file.

"Thank you for coming, Doctor," Crawford said, waving his hand toward one of the seats on the opposite side of the desk.

"Of course," Hannibal replied.

"Will should be here any minute." His eyes glanced over Hannibal's shoulder toward the door as though it might open when he said so. It didn't. "Would you like something to drink?" He gestured behind him. "Water? Coffee?"

"Coffee, please."

They waited only for a few more minutes before the door opened once more and another spilled through it. Spilled was the most accurate way Hannibal could describe Will Graham's entrance to the room. His curly hair showed an attempt at taming it, his clothes had small wrinkles but an effort was obviously put into them, and his glasses hid his eyes as though he were trying to keep something between him and everyone else. But that wasn't what caught Hannibal's attention. It was the way he smelled. Every person, human and otherwise, smelled different. Even as a human he had an excellent sense of smell and it had only been exaggerated later. Crawford smelled of coffee and something Hannibal could only describe as solid. He radiated strength and leadership. Will Graham, however, under the layers of horrid aftershave and dogs, smelled of something chaotic and intoxicating. It only made him want more.

Introductions were made and Hannibal noted to himself how Will avoided his eyes. The subject was changed and Will's attention caught when looking at the board off to the side. A map of Minnesota and links to pictures of eight girls stood against the brown corkboard background. Hannibal hated it. He wanted Will's attention on him and he brought it back the first chance he could.

Crawford talked about how Freddie Lounds attained her newest pictures to post on Tattlecrime.com. Hannibal found mild, dark amusement in reading Freddie Lounds's blog. It was interesting to him in the darkest corner of his mind. It must be interesting to others too, as the website was frequented. He had long noticed the public's interest in the darker things, serial killers among them. It was a strange fascination that he himself played into.

"Tasteless," Will said from his chair.

Hannibal jumped at the chance to continue listening to that voice speak. "Do you have trouble with taste?"

He could feel Will's gaze on him, but it wasn't near his face as though he were looking through Hannibal. 

"My thoughts are often not tasty." He replied around a huff.

"Nor mine," Hannibal answered, pretending to look more at the board before moving his way through the room. "They are effective barriers."

"I build forts," Will answered into a cup of coffee.

"Associations come quickly,"

"So do forts."

He couldn't help his amusement at Will's response.

"Not fond of eye contact, are you?"

Will let out a sigh. "Eyes are distracting," He stared somewhere ahead of him at neither Crawford nor Hannibal. "You see too much, you don't see enough." He could tell Will was just starting as he angled his body as though he were going to face Hannibal. "And it's difficult to concentrate when you're thinking things like," Will's eyes finally met his and he was captivated. "'Oh those whites are really white' or 'he must have hepatitis' or 'is that a burst vein?'" He couldn't help the smile that tugged at his lips and the small chuckle. "So yeah, I try to avoid eyes whenever possible. Jack?"

Will tried to divert the attention away from him but Hannibal wasn't having it. "I imagine what you see you see and learn touches everything else in your mind." He could see Will's face falling as Hannibal continued, trying to tear down those forts he admitted to making but he continued unabated.

"Who's profile are you working on?" He demanded before turning to Crawford, still not looking the other in the eye. "Who's profile is he working on?"

"I'm sorry, Will." He attempted to backpedal just slightly. It wouldn't do to have Will running away from him now, not after he had so thoroughly caught his attention. "I can't turn mine off any more than you can turn yours off."

Will stared somewhere to the left of Crawford. "Please don't psychoanalyze me. You won't like me when I'm psychoanalyzed." He stood and grabbed his jacket. Hannibal could see his need to flee the situation, feeling as though he were being exposed. "Now if you'll excuse me I have to go give a lecture," His eyes suddenly met Hannibal's. "On psychoanalysis." He was gone seconds later.

Hannibal was curious, intrigued, captivated, fascinated.

"Maybe we shouldn't poke him like that, Doctor."

But he wanted to poke. He wanted to poke and prod and pull and twist until that darkness he saw in those brilliant eyes came forward. He wanted, oh he wanted.

He was infatuated. He never experienced infatuation to this intensity. He wanted Will Graham for his own. He wanted those bright eyes and that curly hair and the man hidden behind those glasses. Sometimes, he found himself pushing people because he wanted to see what they would do. He wanted to see what Will would do, but it didn't stop there. He wanted Will. 

"I believe I can help our dear Will see this killer." He leaned forward and examined the board once more. He didn't need to be close to see it. Just like he didn't need to be right next to Will to hear his heartbeat speed in his chest.

He left not long after, still able to smell the chaos and intoxication of Will's blood. He almost followed it, but he thought better. Instead, he had another plan. He would do as he said. He would help Will see the other killer for who he was. But to do so, he would have to let out his killer too.

It was easy to fit the pattern the other left behind. The height, the weight, the hair color, the skin color. It was very common to find someone with those features in Minnesota. But he didn't kill indiscriminately. Every body he left behind, those he left for others to find and those he hid, had a story behind them. One thing in common. 

He abhorred rudeness.

And Cassie Boyle was rude. She screamed at the man behind the register for something he couldn't control. Hannibal decided he would take her lungs.

The stag's head wasn't hard to find and was even easier to steal. He normally wasn't one for thievery, but this was an exception. He thought it best to keep the pattern of his fellow traveler but with subtle differences. But this, this wasn't an homage to someone else. This was a gift. This was a declaration. He was rather like a bird in that way; leaving gifts for his potential mate to find. He wanted Will to find it, to see it, and to see how the other killer was so much different. Will was on the right track, he knew this. Perhaps it was because this other killer was so similar in the smallest of ways to him that he could see what he was. And now he would show it to Will. He left the body in a field, easy to spot and examine. They would think it was their killer, the Shrike. But Will wouldn't. Will would see through it.

This was his courting gift. This was for Will.


	2. The Predator

Hannibal knocked on the motel room door, ever polite. He could easily find his way into the room; no one lived here, there was nothing to stop him. But it would take very little for Will to scurry back into the shell of himself and away from Hannibal, so he knocked instead. He could hear the shuffling behind the door accompanied by a rapid heartbeat. The door opened after a moment and Will blinked into the light of the morning. And was he a sight to behold. His hair was tousled, obviously having just risen from bed. His white shirt was damp and Hannibal could smell the sweat and something else radiating from him. He stood only in his shirt and underwear which made Hannibal incredibly grateful he didn't call and alert Will ahead of time. How else would he see the other without the physical layers separating them?

"May I come in?" He asked.

Those brilliant, blue eyes, so bright in the morning sun, skipped over him and looked over his shoulder. Searching for something or rather someone. "Where's Crawford?"

"Deposed in court." Hannibal rather enjoyed that he and Will would be alone. "The adventure will be yours and mine today." Oh and how he wanted that. He wanted to watch Will, to see his brain work. He had only caught a glimpse of it in Jack's office and heard a little about it when it came to the present he had left for him. But it would be nothing compared to watching those wheels turn. Will blinked at him, his face betraying his discomfort. 

"May I come in?" He asked once again. 

Will evaluated him before stepping further into the room, letting Hannibal follow. He reached for a pair of jeans and pulled them on while Hannibal closed the door with a soft click. He could take Will right now. It would be easy. But that wouldn't be as fun. He would wait until Will asked him, until Will was ready. Until Will wanted it as much as he did. Then he would take him. He threw open the curtains, bringing light into the dark room. He gestured to the table by the window and watched the grace with which the other sat in one of the chairs. The light of the morning illuminated half of his face and Hannibal himself couldn't have drawn anything more poetic.

"I'm very careful with what I put into my body," He began as he sat in the opposite chair and began opening his rather grandiose to-go containers. He attempted to keep his mask the same in all things, including in his possessions. As a result, what he placed before Will wasn't the normal plastic container. He continued to speak as he watched Will first take a bite of what he claimed was sausage. It wasn't. He knew Will had already seen what Hannibal had left for him and now he was eating the piece he had stolen. Will hummed in appreciation and Hannibal felt a secret delight. He tried to break through that exterior once again, but Will was ready for an ambush this time. Oh how clever, how wise, how enticing. The only thing Will could have done to make Hannibal want more was to withhold that more from him. 

He was trapped now. 

He didn't need to breathe, his heartbeat was to keep the blood he took pumping through his body. His biological functions were different than what he experienced as a human. But he would be lying if he said his heart didn't skip a beat when Will offered a smile. 

They went about their day in the car Will rented. The other explained the thought process as to which leads they followed up and why. Hannibal would have given anything to continue listening to him speak. Will had a single-mindedness about him as he started to work his way through the files at the construction site. It was beautiful. He could barely see those eyes flying behind his glasses, but he could hear his heart, steady and loud in his chest. He could smell the chaotic intoxication of his blood. He knew the moment Will found something. His heart seemed to slow and there was a new smell to mix with the others. A mix of curiosity and satisfaction. 

"Garret Jacob Hobbs."

Hannibal was a hunter in more ways than one. Even as a human, he took what he wanted and needed without a second thought. He could stalk and watch and prey. A distinct advantage was that he always knew who the other hunters were. He knew the moment Will had found his prey. And there was the urge to push once again. He would indulge. The second he saw his opportunity he acted on it under the guise of sincere clumsiness. Will went to clean the mess of papers while the construction site's secretary loaded the box into the trunk of the car. He dialed the phone number that lead Will to his conclusions with his knuckles and waited for the line to pick up.

"Hello?" Asked a girl's voice. Perhaps this was, as he had heard Crawford and Will refer to her, Hobbs's golden ticket. 

"Is your father there?"

There was a muffled call and shuffling before another voice echoed through the phone. Hannibal could hear the rhythmic heartbeat of the other. He explained his reason for calling, listening to the subtle changes in breathing as he did.

"Are you listening?" He asked into the silence.

"Yes."

He paused for a second, letting the tension build. "They know."

The heartbeat on the other end exploded into a gallop. Fear. But it wasn't the reaction of Hobbs that he was wanting. He wanted Will's. He wanted to know what happened when the extreme found him, when he was placed in a life or death situation and whether he would come out on top. Hannibal was certain he would. 

They arrived at the Hobbs residence and Will dry swallowed an aspirin. He couldn't help but watch the bobbing of his Adam's apple as he swallowed. Will stood from the car as he focused completely on the house in front of him. It almost seemed as though he were waiting for the house to explode. In a way, it did. The first causality was Hobbs's wife, shoved out the front door rather unceremoniously. She fell to the ground, her throat cut open. The smell of blood should have caught his attention, but it didn't. Instead, he heard thunder. He saw the moment Will knew the woman was all but dead. He saw his muscles stretch and tighten as he kicked open the door. It seemed like nothing more than a piece of paper when Will barreled his way through it. His heart pounded in his chest, his blood smelled of adrenaline. Hannibal followed with only a slight glance at the now dead body next to him. Will moved through the house with ease as though it was second nature. Hannibal could hear the whimpers from the kitchen. Three hearts pounded.

He knew Will would try to de-escalate the situation, but it would be to no avail. Self-preservation was an ingrained, evolved instinct. If Hobbs were to die, he would take his prize with him. And Hobbs would die. The scent of blood filled the air once more before gunshots rang through the house over and over. When he finally allowed himself to be seen once again, Will was attempting to stop the bleeding from Hobbs's daughter's throat. Hobbs slipped into death but even the smell of death and blood couldn't cover what more was lingering in the room. What was radiating from Will. Excitement, adrenaline.

Power. 

Hannibal took over, not the least bit bothered by the blood now on his hands. This was what he wanted. He wanted to place two predators in the same room and watch which one would win. He knew it would be Will. He knew. And he wanted more. 

It would take some prodding and pushing to bring that predator out once again. He would. He would prod, he would push, he would manipulate and scheme. He would drag that predator out by the skin of its teeth because there was no longer a reason to hide. He couldn't hide from Hannibal. Hannibal wanted that hidden darkness, but more so, he wanted it and the man with it to be his.

It was nearly a week later before Will was finally in his office. This was his space, he controlled it completely. Or so he thought. 

Will didn't hesitate to wander around and look. His fingers slid over everything, much like a cat sliding past things to mark them as their own. Hannibal suddenly felt marked. Will's fingers found their way over his desk, his books, his chairs, his drawings, his table. He even watched with amusement as Will climbed the latter to the mezzanine and began examining the rest of his books. If it were anyone else, he might find the action rude. But Will seemed to have unstable energy that he needed to let out, sitting would do no good. He found he didn't mind letting him wander, letting him explore what belonged to Hannibal. Maybe it was because some part of him felt as though Will belonged to him too. But another part wanted to see what happened when Will fully belonged to himself. No Jack Crawford standing over his shoulder, not even Hannibal himself goading him by placing obstacles in his path. He wanted that brilliance and he wanted to bathe in it. He wanted it to consume him. He wanted.

* * *

Will ran through a series of emotions as he dropped the rubber-stamped paper onto Lecter's desk. 

"This may have been premature." 

The other picked up the paper as though he didn't know what it was before letting it drop with disinterest. His attention was solely on Will, even as he looked elsewhere. Will explained about seeing Hobbs at the newest crime scene, something the doctor dismissed as stress. He genuinely hoped that was it. He hoped that he was stressed and it had nothing to do with the feelings inside him when he shot Hobbs. He should know better. He followed the thought process of killers all too easily, he knew how many enjoyed killing. It was how he caught them. The methodology and excitement of killing were easy to follow at crime scenes and it was often the killer's downfall. He had shoved down those impulses years ago and did his best to counter them. Some dark part of him wanted to take lives, so he did everything he could to counter it, to save lives. The police, the FBI, even teaching at the academy. 

The conversation was turned toward the case he was working one and he silently chided himself for losing himself in his thoughts.

"Maybe he admires the ability of the fungi to connect the way human minds can't." Will mused.

"Yours can," The other acknowledged. 

Will couldn't help the genuine laugh. Hannibal laughed with him, a smile reaching his eyes.

"Yeah, not physically." He answered with a smile before looking away. 

He could pinpoint the exact moment when Dr. Lecter became Hannibal. That damned shared moment. He chided himself, wanting to keep it impersonal between them. But it was too easy to sink into comfort with Hannibal. He rarely let himself become comfortable with anyone. Even his father. There was always a distance between himself and others. He could too easily slip into their point of view and see himself how they saw him. He hated the moment when they saw him as a broken bird. A delicate teacup, as Hannibal had put it. But with Hannibal, there was no slipping into the other's point of view. Hannibal didn't allow Will to slip into his mind or the other way around. It was a delicate dance, the two of them maneuvering around each other to keep them from slipping inside. Both knew they could, Hannibal from his career and Will from his compiled neuroses and disorders. The worries that followed Will, from both Jack and Alana, were essentially that he would lose himself in the minds of killers. That he would break, the fine china would shatter, and he would become one of them. That the mirror within him would begin to reflect something more than recreation, but rather creation itself. Dark intent. Hannibal was meant to combat that. He was meant to be Will's paddle as he navigated the waters of criminal psyches.

_The mirrors in your mind can reflect the best in yourself, not the worst of someone else._

He found himself clinging to Hannibal more and more. More than he would have liked. Everyone around him worried; Jack, Alana, even Beverly in that blunt way of hers. But Hannibal stayed the same. Hannibal's attention would follow him even as he would wander around his office, picking up things and setting them back down. He was surprised Hannibal — ever the perfectionist — allowed this. That he allowed Will to move his things, sit in the chair behind his desk, even wander around the mezzanine as though the place was his rather than Hannibal's. Some secret part of him thought Hannibal enjoyed Will wandering around his space. Every time he left the other, he would berate himself for letting himself become so comfortable. Some part of him always still trapped in that grandiose office. 

He went to Hannibal more and more, their conversations bouncing back and forth between Will's psyche and the cases he worked on. He found himself admitting to things that he never wanted to admit to. The way he felt killing, the fact that he didn't fully grasp the concept of family. He had a family of course. While he never knew his mother, he did know his father. Neither of them were perfectly suited to deal with other people, though his father tried. Will followed him from place to place to fix boats of all kinds, a skill his father imparted to him. It was easier to deal with boats, inanimate objects that didn't think or feel. People were hard. They were hard when he was part of the New Orleans Police Department. They were hard when he was stabbed and subsequently left his job. They were hard when he took care of his dying father. They were hard when he moved on and into the FBI. They were hard even when he lectured at them at the Academy. They were worse when he started consulting. He did build a family for himself, a collection of strays as he admitted. Dogs were easy.

Hannibal wasn't hard. It almost felt as though the other was like him and yet somehow the exact opposite. A perfect balance. 

Cases came and went. Sessions with Hannibal came and went. And yet the whole time his mind went with it. It became harder to focus and strangely easier to look. His head pounded and ached as though someone first took a hammer to his skull and then a strong hand gripped his very brain and squeezed. He found himself, literally found, in different places than where he went to bed. No matter how terrifying that was, he was amused that Winston, perfect Winston, followed him, never letting him be alone. But there was more accompanying him in the dark. That goddamned stag always at the edges of his conscious and the center of his dreams. 

The more he went to Hannibal, the more he found himself laying his brand of crazy at the man's feet. Though Hannibal was not without his quirks as well. Part of him couldn't shake a single feeling. He didn't want to admit that the man in the chair across from him felt like an animal, always watching and waiting to strike. He blamed it on his decaying mindset.

A statue within Hannibal's office had caught Will's attention as he let the million thoughts in his head out. There, within Hannibal's office, was a black stag statue. The stag of his dreams seemed solid now, within his grasp. He examined it, aware that Hannibal was nearing him as he did. It should have been strange when the other seemed to inhale deeply while at his shoulder.

"Did you just smell me?"

"Difficult to avoid." That same accented voice answered, sending a chill down his spine that he didn't want to acknowledge or evaluate. Hannibal continued, stating his disgust for Will's aftershave, something he couldn't help but laugh at. 

"Have your headaches been more frequent?" Hannibal asked.

Will offered an affirmation.

"I'd change the aftershave."

He shouldn't be able to make him laugh after everything, but he did.

Why did he have this effect? 

His mind, as on fire as it was, was challenged with another case, something that dragged him away with the strangeness of Dr. Hannibal Lecter.

Saying the Chesapeake Ripper was another killer was like saying a lion was another cat. It was technically true, but it boiled the extreme down to a level that it could almost be a lie. This was something beyond a killer. This was a magnificent beast, hiding among the masses. This was an apex predatory, toying with his prey. This was an artist, making pigs into Picasso. This was something more. 


	3. The Ripper and the Musician

Abel Gideon was not the Chesapeake Ripper.

He knew this the moment he saw the body Gideon left behind. The profile would fit, he had admitted as much. A surgeon fit the profile perfectly. The Ripper removed organs with surgical precision, but every choice he made was meticulous. It was calculated. It was brutal and artistic all at once. It was beautiful. This was not that. The body Gideon left behind, the nurse that was taking care of him after a supposed unconscious spell as not brutalized in the same way. This was vengeful, the was messy. The nurse's body had every manner of instruments thrust through it, she was skewered. The wound man, the Ripper's last known victim, wasn't merely skewered and not like this. He felt slightly disappointed. Will had partially hoped that maybe the Ripper was caught. There was always something about the cases that had bothered him. 

The blood. Why was there always blood missing? There was around one and a half gallons of blood in the adult human body. There was never that much in a Ripper victim. Some were drained completely, some had very little left. 

This was a bloody mess. Will walked around the body, picturing every second that led to the woman's demise. The fork tine hidden in the palm of Gideon's hand, the freeing from his restraints, the detachment from the machines, the stealth by which he appeared behind her, the strength it would need to force her into submission, the pressure on her eyes, the repeated mutilation of the body. But more importantly, the posthumous mutilation of the body. This was a reproduction. He saw it all flicker behind his eyelids. This was personal. The Ripper wasn't personal. There was a detachment there as one is detached from a cow marked for slaughter. Or maybe a pig. 

Idly, he changed his mental profile of the Ripper to fit his analogy.

Oddly enough, something like this had happened to Will before. He remembered seeing Cassie Boyle's body on display in the field. Field kabuki was the most accurate way he could describe it. There were no remnants of the Shrike's murders but there was plenty of Cassie Boyle. The body, the stag's head. It was so jarring when juxtaposed to the Shrike's murders that it led him straight to Garret Jacob Hobbs. But more importantly, it led to his mentality. The way he honored his victims. The daughter he sought to keep close. This was similar. It was so jarringly personal that the Ripper could only sit on the opposite end of the spectrum. He turned, almost absentmindedly to find someone over his shoulder, someone who wasn't there. The urge to Hannibal about his realization was so intense, that for a moment he forgot Hannibal wasn't with them. It was only he and Jack. 

But Hannibal was close. This was, after all, the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane situated in none other than Baltimore, Maryland. Hannibal was so close already he could have reached out and touched him. If only he were here. He never felt so alone. He thought he had always felt alone. Separate. But now, part of him truly understood what it felt like to be alone. There was no Hannibal Lecter with him here today. It was he and Jack Crawford along with one very smug Dr. Frederick Chilton. 

The moment Chilton saw him, he wanted to pick apart Will's mind. He was, after all, the topic of conversation in the psychiatric community. Will could see right through his veneer. Chilton wanted fame. He wanted notoriety.

_The reason you couldn't catch the Chesapeake Ripper is because I already had him._

Will would concede that it was an interesting coincidence. Abel Gideon had been sentenced to the hospital two years prior, right when the Chesapeake Ripper went silent. Gideon's murder of his wife and her family as they gathered for a holiday meal for definitely brutal but it was also passionate. That was anger, as much as the brutalization of the nurse was anger. Anger at what, Will couldn't say precisely. The Ripper was likely a surgeon or had some surgical history and Dr. Abel Gideon had been a transplant surgeon and apparently a rather good one. But the Chesapeake Ripper and Abel Gideon were two different people. 

It was confirmed as much when he took his turn interviewing the man in question. Gideon was, in fact, quite charming and charismatic. He owned the cell he was in, filling it with a larger than life presentation. He moved and smiled similarly to a crocodile. His appearance was neatly maintained, as Will knew it would be in the care of the hospital staff. He looked, overall, healthy. His eyes followed every movement that Will made just as a cat might right before it pounced. His posture was lazy, as though the questions he was being asked were boring and he was uninterested. He answered Will's questions nonetheless and he couldn't help but notice that his answers were along the lines of someone who thought they were the Ripper might answer.

"What effect were you hoping to have in killing the nurse?"

"The effect I was hoping to have was her death," Gideon leaned against the barred door with its glass shell, lazy in presentation, but his eyes were alight. "Mission accomplished."

Will withheld his smirk. The Chesapeake Ripper didn't hope to accomplish death. That was just a side effect of his work. The Ripper appeared to shame people, to put them on display for the world to see inside and out. This was not what Gideon wanted to do. 

He went over the profile of the Ripper while others talked around him. It was easy to shut out the world, bury himself in his mind. Normally, he went to his stream. He was an avid fisher, always had been. Sometimes his only source of food was the fish he caught that day for him and his father. This tradition stayed as he got older, only it wasn't for lack of resources. He was paid well enough in his job that he could afford food when he needed it. This was not the case when he was younger. He had grown up knowing that food wasn't a guarantee and sometimes the only thing between him and starvation was the fish at the end of his lure. He was an excellent fisherman.

But now he was pacing around the Ripper victims, trying to find something, anything, that would lead him to the Ripper himself. He hadn't worked with the FBI when the Ripper was active so he hadn't seen the crime scenes for himself. He had heard about it on the news, read the forensics reports afterward, and saw the pictures. But it was nothing compared to being in there at the moment and seeing what was left to see. 

He went through the motions of the day, nodding when he was supposed to, speaking when he was supposed to. But mostly his thoughts kept returning to the Ripper. He had ridden with Jack from Quantico to verify the lead that Freddie Lounds had dug up. He kept the journalist in his periphery. If he thought about her too much it would just anger him. He looked in the mirror of the car as he and Jack left, seeing the Baltimore skyline fade into the distance. He kept watching long after it was gone, feeling as though he left some major part of himself there. That was happening more and more often. He felt as though pieces of him were flaking off, left behind in place after place. Days sometimes blurred together when there wasn't a case to focus on, and there wasn't much of one now. Jack would try to lure the Ripper out of course, and the Ripper would answer but there was no question of who killed the nurse.

He let himself fall away, thinking of very little until they arrived at Quantico once again. Jack was lost enough in his own mind that he didn't acknowledge Will when he said he was leaving. He took the chance though, knowing that Jack would keep him if he came back to reality and Will was still there. He stepped outside, feeling the bitter cold sink into his bones before he found his car. It was a ridiculous backtrack to return to Baltimore. But it would take the same amount of time to return to Wolf Trap. He debated while the car warmed up. He could drive to Hannibal who would help him work out his theories, or he could return home to his dogs. He drove from the parking lot. He didn't have to decide just yet. He weighed the pros and cons of each. On one hand, his dogs. On the other, Hannibal. He sighed and maneuvered the car into the right lane which would take him to the highway toward Wolf Trap and away from Baltimore.

* * *

Hannibal opened the door for his appointment, feeling elation at what would be the sight of Will Graham. But Will wasn't there. His heart seemed to fall in his chest. When had he become so invested that Will not showing up caused such a reaction? He peered around the waiting room as though Will might be hiding in some corner, but there was no one there. He knew there was no one there. There was no distinct thudding of a heart, no intoxicating smell of Will's blood. It was empty. The empty never bothered him as much. He looked once more, perhaps Will was about to walk through the door a few seconds late. He did try to be on time, something Hannibal appreciated, but even he wasn't perfect. Hannibal closed the door to the waiting room. Will would knock when he showed up. He moved through his office to his desk and sat there for a moment. There was silence. He looked at his office phone, thinking maybe he had missed a call from Will stating he would be late or even canceled. There was no call. He checked the time and then checked his schedule. The minutes ticked by. No Will.

Finally, he gave up waiting and decided he would track down the man himself. For any other patient, he might have given a phone call. He had Will's phone number memorized and had for several weeks now. But this wasn't any other patient, this was Will Graham. He suddenly felt himself wondering if something had happened to Will. He dismissed the notion as soon as it came. Will was by far more than capable of defending himself if he needed to. No doubt his sudden lack of appearance was due to the one thing Hannibal was watching the most. He was one to embrace the unorthodox style. His very existence was unorthodox. He was glad for his foresight, having fed earlier in the morning. Franklyn had a habit of triggering his hunger, mostly because of the strength of his emotions. It made Hannibal's fangs ache. He wouldn't be home for some time as he tracked down his wayward patient. Patient, or friend? He had toyed with the term himself.

Will wasn't officially his patient and his employer was the FBI. He was there to act as the anchor to Will's tornado of thoughts. That, however, put him outside the realm of psychiatrist and firmly into the realm of friend. What were friends for if not to keep the other steady when one felt unstable?

He first drove to Will's house, having been there before. However, much like the last time, it was quiet. He could hear the dogs inside, even from the distance, but the lights were off. Will's car was missing. He wasn't here. He knew then his next stop should be Quantico and Will's classroom. He had seen Will in his classroom, the ease with which he presented information. Will was like an artist with a brush and his medium was his words. He painted such a beautiful picture that Hannibal couldn't help but marvel at it aloud. Everything from Will's movement, his hand gestures, the confidence in his own deductions; it had captivated him. As if Will could captivate him any more than he already had. 

He found the other sitting in a chair in his classroom, staring into the distance with an array of pictures in front of him. 

"Will?" He called quietly. His heartbeat was slow and steady, as though he were sleeping. "Will?" He called again. The other began to move, slow jerky movements as though he were being ripped from a thought. "I have a 24-hour cancelation policy."

Will blinked at him, the statement taking a second to sink in. "What time is it?"

"Nearly 9'oclock."

"I'm sorry," He muttered as he dragged his hands over his face. 

"No apology necessary." He walked to the table and looked over at the pictures all the while listening to Will speak of his nightmares.

"What do you think, Dr. Lecter?" He was beginning to think that Will called him doctor on purpose. Not because it was his title, but because of some more sinful urge within him. 

"Sum up the Ripper in so many words?" He asked focusing more on his artwork on display once more in front of him. It enticed him in the darkest part of his mind to know that Jack Crawford now had Will hunting _him._ It was rather exciting. But it was dangerous. If Will was too close before Hannibal had managed to tease out the darkness within him, he would soon find himself in a prison cell. Starvation was not something he looked forward to. He could function normally, walk in the sun, and generally pass for human as long as he had blood in his system. It would be harder to find it in a cell. 

"Choose them wisely," Will was nearing him. He could feel the heat of the other's body as though he were the sun.

"Oh, I always do." He assured. "Words are living things. They have personality, point of view, agenda." He rifled through the pictures on the desk as Will hovered at his shoulder.

"They're pack hunters."

He and Will made their way around the table. Will was focused on the art Hannibal had unknowingly left for him. Two years ago, if he had known that Will Graham existed and would suddenly become the most interesting thing in the world to him, he might have made this art for Will. As he did with Cassie Boyle and Marissa Schurr. He had left them for Will, his courting gifts which kept the man close to him all this time. They were side by side now, so close it would take very little movement to pull Will against him, to hold him as the precious thing he saw him as. But he didn't. Will wasn't ready for that yet, he still hid within the depths of his mind. Felt the other move closer to him as they continued through the Ripper's catalog, their shoulders almost touching. He couldn't help the smug satisfaction of Jack and Beverly finding them together. 

He also couldn't help his curiosity as he was invited along to find the Ripper. Little did they know they had already found him, right next to Will Graham. The ambulance his imposter used was traced back to its origin, only to be found missing on arrival. He listened as Beverly described how she could track the ambulance. Something he would keep in mind. Perhaps for his next display, he would steal an ambulance, knowing they would find it and the art he would leave inside.

"This is very educational," He said, leaning toward Will as he said it. He delighted in Will's secret smile. It was only for him, not Jack or Beverly. Only him. 

They tracked the ambulance to its location in an abandoned garage. Jack had called for reinforcements on the way and it was a miniature army that approached the vehicle, Jack in front with his shotgun. Will stayed with him, even though Hannibal knew he was well trained with a firearm. Instead, he was at Hannibal's side, running in step with him when he was called forward. 

"I need you to assess the situation, Doctor."

But he already knew the situation. He knew it the moment the air shifted just right and the coppery smell of blood filled his nostrils. It was nothing compared to Will next to him, who had added a new scent under his care. He could smell the fever, the sweetness that was layered on the chaos and darkness. He climbed into the ambulance and peered at the man under the sheets. There was only the hand of the inexperienced man to his right that kept the unfortunate donor from bleeding out. 

"I can stop the bleeding," He told Jack.

"Do it."

Hannibal pulled off his jacket and rolled his sleeves. It had been a while since he had tried to save someone. He was a surgeon for a while. He pulled on a glove and shoved his hand into the body cavity of the unfortunate patient. He found the source of the bleeding easily. He twisted his hand, doing his best to find the position to clamp down on the vessel, cutting off flow.

"You got it?" Jack asked. 

A slight shift of his hand. "I've got it." 

The man next to him withdrew, resigned to his fate. Jack and his reinforcements cornered the man, leaving Hannibal alone to put him back together. Well, not completely alone. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Will draw closer. He stopped at the edge of the ambulance, silently watching Hannibal as he worked. He risked a glance over his arm, finding Will staring at him with an emotion he couldn't quite place. But he could place another. A specific smell drifted toward him. Over the copper of blood and the heat of adrenaline just outside the other door.

Arousal.

The next day he was preparing for his dinner party. His harvested organs were prepped by himself and the staff he hired to assist him. He thought of Will's heavy gaze on him as he worked until that gaze found him once again. He talked through a recipe as Will stood on the other side of the kitchen, his head framed by one of Hannibal's many pictures. He listened intently, a bottle of wine in his hands. As they spoke, Will drew closer and again, Hannibal caught the scent of arousal. What an effect he had on this man. 

"Are you sure you can't stay?" _Stay._

"I'm afraid I wouldn't be good company," Will's eyes dropped.

"I disagree."

Will looked at him once again and he was trapped in those eyes. They seemed darker, like the sea when a storm rolls overhead. Amazing.

"I have to go. I have a date with the Chesapeake Ripper." _You just turned down that date._ "Enjoy the wine."

"Thank you." He murmured as Will smiled once more tapping the bottle. He looked almost reluctant to leave but he was ultimately dragged away by his determination to catch the Ripper. It was rather a shame that he didn't know that he had already caught the Ripper. 

After his guests left that night, Hannibal retreated into his mind. He thought of Will, finding him standing in his memory palace. It was vast, expanded over his many years alive. Within the depths were the memories of his human life. His parents, his aunt and uncle, but more importantly his sister. They were there in the darkest places. But Will was found in the brightest. He wanted to touch him, to taste him, to feel him. He imagined Will would be better than anyone else. He had taken blood from every victim. They were always bitter, fear would do that. But each had their own flavor. Some were sour tasting, some were sweet, some tasted like candy, some tasted like flesh. He imagined Will would taste like ambrosia. Once the encephalitis cleared that is. He had diseased blood before, it wasn't exactly satisfying. But beggars choosers. 

He often thought about Will, what he was doing when he wasn't with Hannibal. What cases he worked on. He could picture him playing with that pack of his, running through the fields around his house with the dogs on his heels. He would think about it when patients bored him, when the night fell into silence. He would wonder what went through that brilliant mind and that vivid imagination. He wondered how often he crossed it, in either form; the Ripper and Hannibal Lecter. He slept, as did most like him, but not for need. Though he would wake to wonder if Will was also awake. There was a way to answer his questions, to solve his curiosity. But every time the thought crossed his mind he let it drift away. Will was always his exception. He could wake him in early hours of the morning and keep him out on wild goose chases late at night. He could climb the latter to the mezzanine while Hannibal watched and he could touch everything Hannibal owned, moving it as he pleased. He continued to be the exception in Hannibal's mind. He while he would push and prod, he would not take from Will until Will asked. No matter how much he wanted. Will would ask, he was determined. 

Days came, days went. A new killer caught his attention, but not for the reasons others would have thought. Killing a killer. This had been Will's pattern. He killed Garret Jacob Hobbs and had wanted to kill Eldon Stammets, he told Hannibal as much. This killer, likely Franklyn's Tobias, was a different breed than Hobbs or Stammets. Hobbs had honored his victims and Stammets wanted to connect with them. Tobias Budge was different. He killed because he could. Hannibal twisted the situation, even when Will came to him admitting to kissing Alana Bloom. He shoved aside the jealousy that reared within him to instead keep the focus where he wanted it. He would deal with Alana Bloom later. But for now, he wanted to set Will on another killer, this one with less moral than the previous. He wanted Will to feel that power once again, that quite rush in his veins. His fevered mind would find it intoxicating, as would Hannibal. 

Budge was rather interesting as a person. He was completely separate from his emotions, acting on impulse alone. It was something Hannibal could relate to. He could, in fact, relate to much about Tobias Budge. The need to serenade, to present and flash. The dark instincts within that both indulged. Unfortunately, it might have had a different effect that Budge wanted. Hannibal was only driven more toward Will, the object of his serenade, and his desire.

Yet somehow the situation had turned on Hannibal once again. Ever unpredictable Will had managed to not kill Budge. He wasn't certain what exactly had happened, but what angered Hannibal, was the fact that he would smell Will's blood on the man who came to kill his patient. Franklyn would die one way or another, one of the killers in the room would do the deed. But Budge would also die. Whether or not he had Franklyn's blood on his hands when he did didn't matter. He had Will's and that was enough. 

And Budge did die. Though he had managed to injure Hannibal in the process. At least it would make it more believable when he called and the FBI came. He would appear injured, nursing a stab wound to the leg that would heal. It would heal quicker with fresh blood, but that was far from his mind. Instead, he wondered, hoped, that Will would appear through that door. Forensics came, EMTs came. He and his office were evaluated as he sat behind his desk, perfectly putting on the mask of an innocent victim who survived a brutal attack. He knew the moment Will arrived, he could smell the fresh blood as he walked through the door. It wasn't enough. It wasn't enough until Will appeared, trailing Jack. Will's heart hammered in his chest as he looked around, his eyes finally resting on Hannibal.

_Relief._

It wafted off Will in waves and Hannibal wanted to drown in it. 

The other came closer, navigating through the wreckage of his office.

"I was worried you were dead," Hannibal said and Will answered with a soft smile. "You're hurt." He didn't even bother looking down to notice the fresh and cleaned wound on his hand. Will looked down at it and flexed his hand before looking at Hannibal.

"So, are you." His voice was barely above a whisper.

Jack pulled him from the moment as he told the pair of them what had happened. Eventually, to Hannibal's relief, Jack left. Will neared, sitting on the edge of his desk, their legs almost touching. He might have enjoyed it, even taken liberties, if it were any other situation.

Will sighed. "I feel as though I've dragged you into my world."

"No," Hannibal said, rubbing his hand down his uninjured leg. "I got here on my own." His eyes found Will's. Will had been searching out his eyes as though he were desperate to have visual proof that Hannibal was well. When their eyes met, Will's heart began thundering again. "But I appreciate the company." And again, Will smiled. 

He was in love. He knew it the moment that smile reached him once again. He had never been in love and he assumed up until this point that his interest in Will was his infatuation. But this ran so much deeper. Maybe he knew it when he wanted to murder the man for laying a finger on Will. Maybe he knew it when he felt his body physically relax at the very sight of Will's bright eyes and curly hair. Maybe he knew it when he had managed to make the other smile once more and he wanted to bathe in it.

He was in love.


	4. The Dead Ride Fast

Will paced the length of the cell. His mind ran through the million little things that brought him to this new low. The gaps in his memory, the encephalitis. How easy he had been to frame. It was sad really. He was supposed to be excellent at his job, at seeing through masks and understanding motivations, but yet there was one mask that had fooled even him. Hannibal Lecter. Of course, it was Hannibal Lecter. He rarely let himself become close to people, Jack and Alana might be exceptions. But he was closest to Hannibal. He was his confidant, his friend. And it had been Hannibal who was pulling the strings all along. Goddamn Hannibal Lecter.

People had come and gone. Alana, Jack, Beverly. Even Hannibal. And Chilton. Always Chilton. He already knew the man recorded everything that was said around the entire hospital. If a pin fell, Frederick knew exactly where it was and why. Luckily for Will, he rarely needed to speak aloud to work through his thoughts. Every day it would come back to the same set, like puzzle pieces that should fit together but he wasn't certain how. Behind the wall of his eyes, he saw Cassie Boyle, Marissa Schurr, the wound man. He saw the victims of the Chesapeake Ripper and the victims of the Copycat. But he wasn't certain how it all fit together. What was he missing? What pieces weren't in place? Was the answer in his memory? He had tried a few ways to dig the memories from his head, though brutal determination seemed to be the least effective. Alana had attempted hypnosis even, but that did very little in the end. Maybe his mind really was fried.

Every day, he would pace the same pattern into the floor. His mind would follow the same trains of thought and every time, everything would converge at one singular thought. Hannibal. Nothing occupied him as much as Hannibal did. Not his trial, not his defense, not even the cases that Beverly so cleverly snuck to him to ask for help. She was a welcome sight, for sure. Always blunt, always honest. Hannibal wasn't blunt or honest. But he was something. It was the Muralist who finally fit together two of the pieces he had been toying with. James Gray, the Muralist, was sewn into his own mural, the eye no longer looking at the sky or maybe even God above. There was a limb missing from the Muralist, but there was something else. There would be something else missing. But what ultimately caught Will's attention was the strange lack of blood left at the mural. A man's leg was cut off and yet there was very little blood at the scene.

The blood. It always came down to the blood. Why was there always blood missing?

He racked his brain day and night, it haunted his dreams. He would dream he was in Hannibal's dining room, the herb garden on one wall and Leda and the Swan over the fireplace. He could see snow falling behind him, bright against the night sky. He sat in the chair at the head of the table, a chair normally reserved for Hannibal himself. Instead, he was trapped, unable to move, unable to even struggle. He could only move his head and it was enough to look up and see a bucket hovering over him. Hannibal appeared next to him, his voice echoing around Will. And then the bucket would turn, almost comically slow. He saw one drop, landing perfectly on his cheek, and then another and another. Before he knew it, the entire contents of the bucket came crashing down on him, darkening his clothes and bathing him in blood. He would wake smelling iron.

It wasn't until one day — when he was locked in conversation with Beverly — that the next piece clicked into place. In hindsight, he should have further appreciated Beverly's abilities to act as a sounding board for his thoughts, even if she didn't know it.

"What's he doing with them?" Beverly asked. She was referring to the surgical trophies taken from Ripper victims, and even the ones taken by the Copycat. It was an excellent question, one that others had asked ad nauseam.

 _Why surgical trophies?_ What possible purpose was there for taking organs and limbs from the victim? Realization smacked Will like he had stood in front of a train.

"He's-he's eating them." His disgust ran deeper. He had dealt with cannibals before. Garret Jacob Hobbs was a cannibal, though not in the typical sense. Hobbs ate his victims to honor them. The Ripper ate his victims because they were pigs. It was weeks ago that he had adjusted his mental profile of the Ripper to include the word "pigs." He even described the Ripper's killings as "sounders" the name for a group of pigs. Maybe it was because his brain was inflamed and his mind on fire that he never truly made the connection before. Pigs.

_And what do we do to pigs?_

_We eat them._

No, it wasn't that the Ripper, that Hannibal, was a cannibal. It was that he had made everyone else cannibals as well. Will thought back to the breakfast Hannibal had brought him after Cassie Boyle's murder, the sausage. 

The lungs.

All those dinner parties, Hannibal had a dinner party when the Ripper was confirmed to have resumed his killings once more, all those homemade meals, every time he brought Will a meal, every time Will had stayed for dinner. Who all had Hannibal made cannibals? Alana? Jack? Frederick Chilton? Those Baltimore elites and the friendly meals shared with colleagues? How many had unwillingly become cannibals because of Hannibal Lecter? Hannibal the cannibal. He wanted to gag. 

But still, there was one piece missing. Why the blood? Why? Why? Why?

Hannibal had admitted to him once that he used blood in a dish of his, right before a dinner party. But there was no way Hannibal was eating that many tomatoes in a suspension. Maybe he used it for other dishes? Sanguinacco dolce was one of Hannibal's favorite desserts, he had told Will as much one of the few times he'd had it. Sangue was blood in Italian and sanguis in Latin. Maybe he used human blood for that? Will mentally shook his head while Beverly talked. No. That wasn't enough and Hannibal didn't strike him as often having a sweet tooth. He wasn't making dessert that regularly, at least not that one in particular.

No. He was missing something.

He could almost see the bigger picture if only he could fit this last piece. Beverly left, out to chase down a new lead, and Will was returned to his cell. He paced, wearing an already worn path down further. What was he missing? What was the puzzle piece that would finish the picture? What was the picture? He was putting together a puzzle without ever having seen the box. It was maddening. No wonder people didn't notice when his mind was on fire. He was always putting together puzzles without the box, it would seem like madness to anyone else. But this, this was madness. It was madness to try to further examine a monster. A monster who, for some inane reason, seemed to be fixated on him. Oh, he fought with terrible impulses, sometimes he wanted to rip and tear into someone. He could see, he could understand, killers because of his empathy and because deep down, he was some part like them. But what kind of monster was Hannibal Lecter? And why did he focus on him?

What did he know?

Hannibal was a killer. Hannibal was the Chesapeake Ripper. Hannibal was the Copycat. Hannibal was a cannibal. And for some reason, he always took blood from his victims.

He flopped rather ungracefully onto his threadbare bed. It creaked under his sudden weight, sounding as if it would collapse. It wouldn't. He might, though. He might collapse in himself, like a dying star, as he tried to understand Hannibal. He could be lost in his own mind, searching for answers that weren't there. He could search and search and be lost amongst his madness, his darkness. He threw an arm over his face, blocking the fluorescent lights for the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. The last time he was here, he had thought about how close Hannibal felt. As though he could reach out and touch him. Physically, Hannibal was close, he was only a few blocks away. But mentally, it felt as though miles were separating them, as though Will was reaching out over a precipice that only promised an endless drop. Will reached and reached, and that dark part of him wished Hannibal were reaching back.

He drifted, floating aimlessly into the dark.

* * *

_He was in a castle. The ceiling seemed to stretch into the sky, so high it looked black in the distance. Maybe there were even stars. Maybe there was no ceiling at all. Torches and candles flicked along stone halls and his shoes echoed across marble floors. The castle looked muted, as though it had once been full of life and color but now it was dull and dark. Black curtains hug across glass windows from top to bottom. There was no light allowed in. The corridor broke off into several others, all dark and daunting as though something terrifying lived within the depths. He kept walking, following the torches as they lit his path. Each step echoed like a thousand, each breath was lost in the cataclysm. Pillars rose next to him, portraits of blurred faces lined the walls. And still, he kept moving forward. The corridor stretched into eternity and when he looked behind him, the path he had walked was gone. It was as though he was moving into the depths without having moved at all._

_"Do you not think that there are things which you cannot understand, and yet which are; that some people see things that others cannot?" An accented voice echoed from all sides, as though he were infinitely surrounded by one person. But it wasn't the accent he wanted. It wasn't Hannibal. This was something else. He knew this accent, but he just couldn't place where. "But there are things old and new which must not be contemplated by men's eyes, because they know -or think they know- some things which other men have told them." The voice continued from the million shadows and the thousand corridors. He was the center, he was the eye of the storm of the voice, yet he knew nothing. "Ah, it is the fault of our science that it wants to explain all; and if it explains not, then it says there is nothing to explain.”_

_He knew that quote. Those words. He had read them, not by choice. Why did he know this?_

_“It is a strange world, a sad world, a world full of miseries, and woes, and troubles. And yet when King Laugh comes, he makes them all dance to the tune he plays. Bleeding hearts, and dry bones of the churchyard, and tears that burn as they fall, all dance together to the music that he makes with that smileless mouth of him. Ah, we men and women are like ropes drawn tight with strain that pull us different ways. Then tears come, and like the rain on the ropes, they brace us up, until perhaps the strain becomes too great, and we break. But King Laugh he comes like the sunshine, and he eases off the strain again, and we bear to go on with our labor, what it may be.”_

_A figure finally appeared, but it seemed to shimmer between forms. For a second, he saw a man in a cape standing proud in the corridor, but his face was hidden. Then it would flicker again and he would see a different man. Broad shoulders, a suit. Back and forth the forms seemed to war and no matter how much closer he stepped, he could not see the face._

_“There are darknesses in life and there are lights, and you are one of the lights, the light of all lights.”_

_That voice, that voice was Hannibal. But the end of the sentence seemed to shift, the accent changing._

_"Do you recognize it?" Hannibal asked._

_"Recognize what?"_

_"The voice. The words." Hannibal's voice was right next to him, whispering in his hear. "You should. Figure it out quickly, dear Will." His voice lowered to a whisper. "Denn die Todten reiten Schnell."_

_Before he could respond, before his brain caught up with itself once again, a hand fisted in his hair and his head was pulled back with blinding speed. The corridor blurred before him and he saw the infinite ceiling and the stars twinkling in the distance. The torches went out one by one, dimming the world around him. The man, Hannibal and not Hannibal, flickered between forms before a smirk pulled at those changing lips. He saw a flash of teeth and pain bloomed in his neck. He felt his life drain from him. Slowly, he began to fade into that ceiling, the stars consuming him whole._

* * *

Will woke with a start, his heart pounding in his chest and his neck aching as though his dream was real. But it couldn't be real. That couldn't be real. The quotes, whispered and yelled to him in his dream, were from one source. How on the nose his brain was. _Dracula._ He had read Bram Stoker's book in high school for his English class. It was during a time when his father was between jobs so most of Will's attention was in finding food for the pair of them after he left school. He nearly considered dropping out and finding a job to support the two of them, but his father had found a job at last and Will flipped through the book to prepare for his exam the next day. And yet somehow, his brain had managed to return to that book. Maybe it was because of how much he kept dwelling on the missing blood in the Ripper case.

Vampires weren't real.

Right?

The only problem was, the pieces fit too well. The missing blood from the Ripper victims, how quickly Hannibal healed after the attack by Budge, the fact that Hannibal seemed to feel no pain. He could see the picture now, finally fitting into place. The way Hannibal talked, his style his writing, that damned accent. He shivered, hearing the changing accents of his dream. Dracula. Goddamned Dracula. How on the nose. Or rather, the fang.

He looked around the threadbare cell. Hannibal would visit today. He didn't know how he knew, but he did. Maybe he could prove...

He cut off his train of thought. Prove that Hannibal Lecter was not only a cannibal but also a vampire? If he was a vampire, was he even a cannibal?

He was insane. He should just plead insanity now and be done with it. He rolled from his bed, landing on his feet. His cell was empty, save for his threadbare bed and its metal frame. There were no sharp edges on the frame, nothing he could cut himself with. His brain brought forth, unbidden, the memory of the attack by Tobias Budge. He remembered thinking he heard an animal, leaving Budge's shop to see. When he returned, everyone had seemingly vanished. The further he looked into the shop, the more unease settled over him. He found the two officers that had accompanied him, one left on the floor and the other tangled and left in water. His heart sped in his chest as he felt, more than heard, another presence creep up on him. It was instinct that caused him to lift his hands, protecting his face, and likely ultimately saving his life. He managed to use the gun in his hand, shooting Budge in the ear and temporarily deafening himself. When his vision corrected and the ringing in his ears stopped, he noticed his hands were torn and cut. There was no lasting damage, but it was enough that he bled. Hannibal had focused on his hand when he saw him, thankfully alive in his office. Budge was dead, Hannibal's patient was dead. But Hannibal was there, alive and his eyes were filled with relief. 

_You're hurt._

Had Hannibal smelled the blood?

He raised his hands into view, looking at the very faint, fine scars across his knuckles and the dorsal side of his hand. He had bled then and Hannibal knew. What would happen if he bled now?

Insanity.

It didn't take much to bloody his hands on the cell walls. Skin didn't hold well against concrete. He hid his knuckles carefully, pinning them against his back as he was handcuffed. The man with him, Matthew Brown, didn't notice. The guards didn't notice. He was careful to keep his palms outward as the handcuffs were removed. It was rather hard to keep his bloody knuckles hidden but the moment Brown left, he turned his hands, flexing them. Light shown in the window and the glass reflected his outline. He could feel the blood roll down his knuckles. He was careful not to let it fall against the metal table. It would do no good to be patched up before Hannibal arrived. Though he idly thought that Hannibal could tell even when he was patched. He waited. 

His heart hammered in his chest, adrenaline coursed through his veins. 

At the beginning of his trial after opening statements, there was a letter delivered and it was an earful. Literally. Will had watched, unamused, as an ear fell from the envelope onto the desk. 

_I think I opened your mail by accident._

Hannibal would discuss this today. Maybe he would even argue that this could be Will's "get out of jail free" card. He doubted it was Hannibal, himself, who sent the ear. It wasn't his M.O. But Hannibal would use it. He would twist it, one way or another to fit his needs. 

He saw the other's shadow before it the man who cast it appeared. For a moment, there were horns in the shadow but he blinked and they vanished only to be replaced by the man himself. Hannibal froze on the other side of the door, his eyes glued to Will's hands. Will hid his delight behind a mask of indifference. Brown opened the door for Hannibal to enter and he did, very slowly. 

"Something wrong, Dr. Lecter?"


	5. Found

"Something wrong, Dr. Lecter?"

The smell of blood, Will's blood, had been potent from the moment he had stepped down the stairs and had only grown stronger as he neared the room he knew the other was in. Will's face was a mask of indifference, but his eyes were lit with glee. He stepped inside the room, moving slowly to reaffirm what he already knew. _How clever._ Hannibal thought. He regained his composure, not that he had truly lost it, and moved from his frozen position in the doorway to drape his coat over the back of the unoccupied chair, setting the file he was carrying just out of Will's reach. He then moved back toward the glass door opening it just slightly so he could speak to the man on the other side. 

"I believe Mr. Graham is injured. Would you be so kind as to grab something for me to clean him up and some bandages?"

"I can take him to the infirmary." The man, M. Brown, moved closer. Hannibal could smell the possessiveness radiating off him. Unfortunately for him, Hannibal too was possessive.

"No need," He answered. "I am more than capable of handling this myself. It's not severe."

Brown seemed like he wanted to protest but eventually nodded and looked toward the guard. He nodded and Brown walked away. Hannibal stood in the doorway with the door propped open until Brown returned, handing him a bowl of warm, soapy water, a cloth, and some bandages. Hannibal thanked him before letting the door close, rather abruptly, in the other's face. Though there were people watching from the other side of the glass, he and Will were essentially alone. He preferred it that way. Throughout Will's incarceration, he began to realize how much he missed the other. He missed their talks, he missed Will's presence. And he had apparently missed the smell of Will's blood as that was his main focus. He sat in the chair across from Will and held his hand out expectantly. Will studied him for a moment, those bright eyes searching his face for something he didn't find. He could hear him let out a small huff before he turned his hands over and placed one in Hannibal's waiting grasp.

"Decide to fight the walls, Will?" Hannibal asked as he dipped the cloth into the water and began gently cleaning his wounded knuckles. Rather than answer, Will just studied him more. His eyes flicked over Hannibal's face rapidly, as though he would miss any change that came about. He cleaned one hand and then moved to the other, repeating the task. It was a simple, mind-numbing task that allowed him to think about how he would continue from here. He had thought, for the briefest of seconds, of taking Will the moment the door was closed behind him. No one could have stopped him and it would rid him of the torment that was Will Graham. The more emotional part of him had decided to intercede, reminding him not for the first time of the feeling he had experienced after the incident with Tobias Budge.

No. Will couldn't die. Not unless he was going to be reborn. He let go of Will's hand, though neither of his hands had moved far from his grasp. He wrapped them in the bandages before reluctantly withdrawing and folding his hands in front of him.

"I assume you know what I came to discuss." He pushed the file toward Will.

Will blinked, looked at the file, then focused again on Hannibal. "It would be a lie."

"I don't want you to be in here," He admitted.

"I don't want me to be in here either," Will answered, still staring at him. He leaned forward in his seat, mimicking Hannibal's posture. "You could do something about that."

"And what exactly do you expect me to do?" 

He was certain Will would have rolled his eyes if it were anyone but Hannibal if he could risk looking away for long enough for an eye-roll. 

"You put me in here. You can get me out."

"And in exchange?" Hannibal asked. "You've been making deals. Miss Katz. Frederick. What deal will you offer me?"

Will flexed his hands before splaying them on the table. "You know." His voice was quiet, almost a whisper. But Hannibal heard it anyway.

"Are you offering?"

"I'm offering nothing."

"You will."

Will smirked and Hannibal knew he was trapped. Will had caught him, figured him out and now used him against himself. _How clever_. He thought once again before examining the man in front of him. His hair had grown, framing his face further. It was almost boyish. His eyes were bright and clear, so different from the days before Hannibal's rather panicked plan had come to fruition. He held Hannibal's gaze evenly, even greedily. The man who he first met, the one who hid behind his glasses and hated eye contact, seemed to be gone. He was replaced by this clever animal, biding its time for an attack. He could never describe fully how much that excited him. He had known there was something hidden within those blue depths, something dark and vicious when it wanted to be. He had twisted and pulled and pushed to drag it out. And here it was, staring Hannibal down intently, using his own manipulation to get what he wanted.

"What will you do with your freedom?"

"Are we back in therapy, Dr. Lecter?" 

"I don't recall you ever being my patient."

"Officially."

"You never answered my question."

Will leaned back in his chair, his eyes full of a dark, playful light. "Isn't the fun in seeing what I'll do, rather than knowing ahead of time?"

Hannibal's lips twitched slightly. "I would be lying if I said I wasn't curious."

Will cocked his head. "Then get me out. And your _curiosity_ will be satiated."

Hannibal wanted nothing more than to continue their verbal sparring, dancing around a subject they both knew was there but neither addressed. It was incredibly tantalizing to him. How much better would it be when there was no one watching. When they were well and truly alone. This was the Will he had wanted, desired, to see. But this Will was much more of a risk than the other. That Will had been easy to manipulate, to drive in one direction or another until he was so twisted within himself he thought he was a murder. Oh, he was capable of murder, even then. But this Will would not be manipulated as easily, this Will was even more unpredictable. One misstep and Hannibal would take his place as the one chained to a table. Not that it would matter. Eventually, he would find his way out. He weighed the pros and cons in the peace of his own mind. No one would believe that he was a vampire and any accusation as such would land Will back in the hospital for insanity. But Will could easily point the FBI in the right direction without all the information.

The Chesapeake Ripper. 

Hannibal broke the silence between them, sliding the file closer to himself. "Your lawyer will want to change your defense." He changed the subject before looking at Will once more. "He will likely have me testify as well."

"Should I be pleased that you'd be willing to lie under oath?"

"I would not lie," Hannibal assured. He searched Will's eyes. This was all for show, the two of them knew as much. It was for the men standing outside, especially the one inching closer to the door by the second. "I thought perhaps this might dissuade your doubt." Such a shame, Mr. Brown would have to die.

"My doubt about what?"

"Me." Hannibal let his face fall into a frown. 

"This wasn't you," Will whispered. "This convenient alibi."

"This killer wrote you a poem, are you going to let his love go to waste?"

Will smirked. "You and I both know the only person's love you care about going to waste is your own."

Hannibal didn't answer. Instead, he stood and grabbed the file. Will's eyes followed him as he moved toward the door, but before opening it, Hannibal turned toward the other once more.

"I will think about what we discussed."

"Don't think too long," Will answered as Hannibal turned and opened the door. Then, in a whisper. "You never know when I might do something rash."

Had Hannibal's hearing been worse, been human, he never would have heard the whispered threat. But he did and he smirked in satisfaction without facing Will once again. 

Three days later, Will was sitting in Hannibal's office. He looked much more put together than he had in the hospital. His hair was shorter and he even wore a shirt which just so happened to reveal his neck quite well. Will was goading him, Hannibal knew this. But he would not do anything without Will's permission. Why he put the restriction in place when it came to Will Graham, he wasn't certain. Lions didn't wait for consent to take their prey, why should he? Maybe it was the pleasure of Will giving in to him willingly. Maybe it had something to do with his strange infatuation turned to love. Maybe it was because Will was another predator, a god bound in a human body and he would wait for permission from a god. 

Will stared him down, even when Hannibal wasn't looking. He had fixated on him, watching for the slightest changes to prove his suspicions. His doubts about Hannibal — what he certainly was — must have been satisfied by now. Hannibal had thought, as he promised he would, about their conversation after leaving the hospital. It would have taken very little effort for him to send someone to kill Hannibal by proxy. The proxy would likely have been the orderly who watched their exchange like a hawk as if he were worried Hannibal would do something rather than Will. It had taken very little effort to free Will from the hospital. He took Abel Gideon after Will had so cleverly bargained Gideon's return. Gideon was a threat which was likely why Will had managed to coerce Frederick into bringing his once attacker back. Frederick desperately craved fame and catching the Chesapeake Ripper would achieve that. Gideon was his ticket to fame until Hannibal had snatched him from under his nose. He left fishing hooks in the orderly who was sent to check on Gideon, M. Brown. There was just enough tissue to identify victims Will had previously been accused of killing and even some he couldn't have killed, due to his hospital stay. It was all wrapped up in a nice little bow. There was never a Copycat, Will was never the killer. It was always the Ripper, always him. 

Jack was likely going out of his mind trying to catch the Ripper. He wondered if Will would once again point in his direction, as he had when he first entered the hospital. There was nothing for Jack to find, of course. He was excellent at evading capture, had been for many years.

"What would you have done?" He asked, unable to withhold his curiosity.

"You mean if I was still in the hospital?" Will asked with an eyebrow raise.

"I imagine you would have tried to have me killed," Hannibal mused.

"I thought about it." Will let his gaze shift to elsewhere in the office. "Not that it would have worked."

"How would you do it?"

"With my hands," He answered. 

That should not have been as erotic as it was.

"Do you still want to kill me?"

Will let his tongue slide across his lips and Hannibal couldn't stop himself from following the movement. "I don't want to kill you anymore, Dr. Lecter." Will's gaze was pinned to him once again before he shrugged. "Not that I could." They were silent for a moment. "Other than my memories, did you take anything else from me?" His voice was no more than a whisper.

"No."

"Why?"

Hannibal only smirked in response.


	6. Bound to You

Will was going out of his mind trying to force Hannibal to give him a straight answer. Or anything he could use. He had finally managed to convince Jack just enough that he could prove who the Chesapeake Ripper is. All he needed was Hannibal to confess to something, anything. He still warred with himself, wondering if it would be worth it. Hannibal wasn't human, maybe hadn't been human for a long time. What good would prison or even the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane do? Eventually, people would notice that he didn't age, that he never changed. Or maybe he would die of starvation. He wondered if he should just let it go. What good would come of any of this? What was he even hoping to accomplish? Revenge? Or was it betrayal that fueled him? 

He idly found himself petting Winston as he thought. Winston sat practically on his feet and had barely looked away from Will whenever he arrived home. Of all his dogs, Winston seemed to be the one who noticed that Will's absence the most, and was determined to hold onto him when he came back as if he would go away again for good. It was calming to have something to do with his hands, even if it was just petting one of his many dogs.

His mind followed thought after thought, bouncing him back and forth between his own mind and what he could gather of Hannibal's. It was an elegant, almost perfect mask. He wondered, not for the first time if Hannibal Lecter was even his real name. It probably was. Leave it to Hannibal to continue using his own name throughout time as if no one would notice. And no one had noticed. No one noticed anything peculiar about him. It was as infuriating as it was awe-inspiring how well he could blend into society. Now, of course, he had found himself entangled with the FBI. It would be harder to disappear after that. 

Will continued his weekly sessions with Hannibal. He even started finding his way to Hannibal's office more and more. Hannibal always welcomed him and the two would talk until late hours in the night about nothing in particular. They danced around everything, speaking cryptically. Both knew the truth and neither spoke of it. Part of Will, the secret, dark part of him, didn't want Hannibal to say anything. He didn't want to will his thoughts into reality. Every time he would speak to Hannibal, he would report back to Jack with unfortunately very little to go on. He almost debated giving up. Jack, however, seemed more and more convinced. Bodies started piling up again, Hannibal had a dinner party. Nothing came of the dinner party. Cases came and Will had almost given Hannibal exactly what he wanted. Though it was Hannibal who stopped him. He tried to understand why. Why had Hannibal stopped him? The man clearly deserved it. Though his whys became much bigger. Why him? Why any of this?

He thought about Peter, incredibly kind Peter who just wanted to help his animals. Will could relate. If he had his way he would have just collected strays into eternity. But Hannibal hadn't let that happen. 

Hannibal. Hannibal. Hannibal.

The man occupied his every thought and nearly every conversation he had, whether or not the other was who the man himself was conversing with. More and more they were twisting around each other, each chasing something until he couldn't tell who was chasing who. They were running in circles, twisting together like vines. Will wanted to give in, he wanted to become who Hannibal thought he was. He gave Jack less and less information and found himself at Hannibal's table more often. Hannibal was completely entertained, and Will knew this. They danced around each other, never quite touching and never quite pulling away. It was maddening. At night his dreams would feature Hannibal prominently, in some form or another. Sometimes he would see Hannibal himself and others he would see the stag. But always, always Hannibal. He would wake up in cold sweats, his heart pounding in his chest. 

He wondered if he should discuss this in therapy.

Will leaned on the desk in Hannibal's office, his hands firmly on either side of him. Hannibal busied himself with something on the other side while he talked about the newest case, bouncing ideas off the other. He had never been more effective than he was with Hannibal around. He hated it. He loved it. It was terrifying to him how much he had come to rely on someone, someone who had already put him through so much, and yet he kept coming back to time and time again. Hannibal moved around the desk and sat next to him. The sun was lowering in the sky and they watched the colors dance through the windows in his office. 

"You must allow yourself to be intimate with your instincts, Will."

"Are you?" He challenged. He wished Hannibal would say something, anything to end with war with himself. At all times he could practically feel two people hovering over his shoulders. Jack, who wanted him to catch the Ripper, who wanted him to be his man. Hannibal, who wanted nothing more than for him to embrace that darkest side of himself, rather than hide behind his physical and mental shields. Jack spoke directly, sometimes loudly. Hannibal spoke in riddles and whispers. He felt like he was in a three-way tug-of-war between Jack, Hannibal, and himself. He would tear sooner or later.

"Yes."

"What are your instincts telling you now?" Will asked, genuinely curious.

"They tell me you aren't embracing yours."

What were his instincts? What did he want? Where did Will Graham factor into all of this? Did he want revenge? Did he want to embrace that darker side of himself, the impulses Hannibal tried to drag out, kicking and screaming? Did he want Hannibal behind bars? Did he want to be Jack's man? Did he want any of this at all?

He pushed off the desk with a sigh. Hannibal watched him with curious eyes. They said nothing, as the sun dipped below the horizon and darkness followed. The world seemed to shift in the dark and Will felt as though he were trapped in a cage with a hungry animal. Hannibal had already lit a fire and as the sun drifted away the room was bathed in an orange glow.

"What are your instincts really telling you?" Will asked, finally breaking the silence. "What is it that you want?"

He turned to face the other. He would have to make a choice sooner or later, or let himself be torn apart. He was beginning to realize, though, that his choice was already made for him before he even knew it. 

Will could feel Hannibal's heavy gaze on him. The pieces had come together in his mind, and now they were becoming a reality. The fire crackled in the silence as he studied the other standing near him. The two of them danced around the subject, jabbing at one another with words as the skilled verbal boxers they were. The other looked him over as if he could sense Will's internal dilemma and he knew where Will currently stood. Hannibal's pupils were blown wide, and his eyes kept flitting, something unusual for him. Will held his gaze when he caught it again. Hannibal moved forward swiftly, his footsteps light as ever, not making a sound. 

"Do you trust me?" Hannibal asked.

"Should I trust you?" Will let a little bite into his words. He hadn't forgotten everything. He hadn't forgotten what Hannibal had put him through. But he also knew more than he let on to the FBI or anyone else for that matter.

"I won't do anything you don't want me to," Hannibal's accented voice was soft but it echoed around him as though he had yelled. "I won't unless you say yes."

Will swallowed thickly. He watched the firelight flicker over Hannibal's features, sometimes making them sharper and sometimes making them softer. It was mesmerizing in and of itself and idly he wondered if the other was doing it on purpose. Hannibal was so close, they were almost touching. He found the other's eyes. He remembered once telling him he didn't like eye contact. How many exceptions had he made for Hannibal? How many had Hannibal made for him? Was this one more? 

He could feel the heat of the fire behind him. He could feel Hannibal's breath against his cheek. He could feel the other, even though they weren't touching, as though his nerves had been electrified. 

"Yes," He let out in a breathy whisper.

He heard Hannibal suck in a breath as he moved closer. "Don't fight. It will hurt if you fight."

"And if I don't?"

He could almost feel Hannibal's lips quirk as if they were his own. "You'll see."

Hannibal raised his hand and gently turned Will's head, exposing his neck more. He could feel everything, the heat of the fire, the closeness of Hannibal's body, the thumb tracing over his jaw. His hand moved around Will's throat to the back of his neck, holding him gently as though he thought Will might break. There was still time to back out, Hannibal was giving him a chance to say no if he wanted to. But he couldn't. A small part of his mind told him this was the proof he was waiting for. A larger part told him this was what he wanted. 

He felt Hannibal's lips first, gently pressing against the pulse point on his neck. Will's breath caught in his throat. It was so unbearably tender. It was intimate in a way he never expected. His mind brought him back to the day he met Hannibal all those months ago, how offended and angered he'd been at Hannibal trying to push his way into Will's mind. And now he was there because Will had let him, had practically dragged them together. Hannibal shifted closer, their chests touching. He stood perfectly still and swallowed thickly. 

At first, he felt pain in his neck, nothing unbearable but enough that he noticed it. And then...

And then a wave of pleasure washed over him. It was suffocating and intoxicating all at once. His mind blanked as it felt as though he was being bathed in pure pleasure. It ran down his body, into his fingertips and his toes. It curled in his gut. He felt like he was being pulled underwater and all at once he wanted to fight and he wanted to drown. His body moved of its own volition. One hand moved to the back of Hannibal's head, holding him in place while the other wrapped around his waist. He felt his eyes close, pulling him further into the intoxication. Hannibal tightened his grip, fisting his hand in Will's hair and pulling Will closer with his other hand. He would have let Hannibal drain him right there. He could barely feel his own body, barely remember who he was and why he was there. All he could do was bathe in the sensation, letting it take him over. He heard a moan escape his lips, but he didn't feel as though it was him who did it. He was floating outside his body and was in it all at once. 

"Hannibal," He felt himself whisper.

It felt like an eternity before Hannibal withdrew and he felt the other's tongue run over the wounds in his neck. He hadn't fully returned to himself when he felt a hand slip in his pocket. He always carried a knife with him, more for reassurance than anything else. How Hannibal knew that he didn't know. He heard the knife click open and he opened his eyes. 

"Trust me," Hannibal whispered against his ear.

He brought the knife to his own throat and quickly sliced through his skin. Will watched as blood began to pool at the cut. He felt Hannibal's hand push him closer.

"It's all right." 

He should have thought it crazy or disgusting. Instead, he was so lost within himself and the feeling from before that he obeyed, leaning forward and pressing his mouth against the cut on Hannibal's skin. 

He wasn't certain what he expected. Maybe the normal, metallic taste of blood. That wasn't what he tasted. He couldn't describe what flavor rushed over his tongue as he began to drink in earnest. Hannibal pushed him closer, much like Will had done, holding his head in place. The pleasure he felt before was amplified to an extreme he never thought possible. He was certain he was shaking. His grip tightened on the other. They were pressed so closely together, he could feel a hardness pressing against him. He idly realized he too was erect, but he could hardly bring himself to care. This was the most intimate experience he had ever had. The twisting and twisting the two of them had done had finally caused them to crash together. He didn't know where he ended and Hannibal began and quite frankly he didn't want to know. He noticed, rather lazily, a sudden new sensation. It felt as though fingers were poking and prodding ever so slightly his mind. As if a door had opened and someone else stepped through, making their home inside his head. 

Will finally pulled back, watching with mild amazement as the wound healed itself. He was breathing heavily, still clinging to Hannibal as if the other were his lifeline as if he were drowning at sea and Hannibal was his savior. Neither let go. Hannibal was breathing as hard as he was. Will turned his head slightly, feeling his nose and forehead brush against Hannibal's. He wasn't certain who leaned in as they touched. He was lost in Hannibal and Hannibal seemed to be as lost in him. The world around them didn't matter, his internal war didn't matter. Nothing mattered except Hannibal. They stood there for a moment, both breathing in the other as if each were the other's only source of oxygen.

He didn't know who moved first, not that it mattered. Their lips crashed together. His hand tightened in Hannibal's hair and the other mirrored him in response. Satisfaction, not his own, ran through his mind, but he was so lost in Hannibal that he barely noticed. He pulled at Hannibal's suit jacket, and Hannibal seemed to be reluctant to let him go. Their lips stayed together as they both worked to remove the jacket and Hannibal tossed it with accuracy onto a nearby chair. The other's hands came to his face, cupping it as if he were something precious. Every time Will pulled at a new piece of clothing, Hannibal seemed to be reluctant to let go but he did. His vest, his shirt. They were tossed with his jacket. Hannibal untucked and unbuttoned Will's own shirt with surprising speed, tossing it with the other discarded clothes.

He didn't know how they found themselves on the ground, he only knew that Hannibal suddenly could grind against him more. He felt the carpet against his back, he felt the heat of the fire, but more importantly, he felt Hannibal's lips against his own. The belts were next, clattering to the floor loudly. Hannibal rolled slightly so they both could remove the rest of their clothes, though it was a fumbling movement as neither seemed to be willing to let the other's lips go. Hannibal moved again, pulling their bodies close together. Will could feel everything. His hands roamed everywhere, combing through the hair on Hannibal's chest, running over the muscles in his back and arms, fisting in his hair. Hannibal seemed just as eager to explore. They found their way to the other's hard lengths at the same time and Will let out a choked moan, already feeling oversensitive. He wanted more.

Hannibal hummed against him, a sound that echoed from deep in his chest. He pressed into Will's hand, his hips moving slowly. Will was pinned beneath him, unable to move much except his hands. They kissed sloppily before Hannibal's teeth sunk into his lip, not enough to break skin, but enough to ensure he felt it. The sensation went right to his already achingly hard cock. Hannibal let him go and, much to Will's dissatisfaction, broke away from their kiss. He knew exactly what the other was doing, but the sensation of a wet finger still caught him by surprise. Hannibal pressed inward and Will couldn't stop the moan that escaped his lips. A moan Hannibal swallowed greedily. The other kissed around his mouth, his jaw, his neck, his forehead. All the while, he pressed into him, first moving slowly then with increasing his speed. He added another finger, and then a third. Pleasure, both his own and that same foreign sensation, washed over him. It was as suffocating as what he experienced previously, but for a completely different reason. He continued his own movements, his hand traveling the length of Hannibal's cock. 

Eventually, Hannibal removed his hand but before he could do much more, Will rolled them. He covered Hannibal's body with his own before he started pressing kissing into every bit of skin he could reach. He moved down Hannibal's body, letting teeth, tongue, and lips form a trail until he was at Hannibal's hips. He pressed kisses and small bites into the flesh there before flicking his eyes up and meeting Hannibal's. The other watched him intently, every movement and twitch he drank in as if he were dying of thirst. With their gazes still locked, Will let his tongue flick over the head of his cock. Hannibal let out a moan and he continued, his mouth sliding over the other's length. He was no stranger to sex. He'd had his fair share with men and women, though all were flings and never lasted. This felt different. This was more intense, more intimate in every way. He still wasn't quite sure where each of them ended, only knowing that he and Hannibal were here together. 

He twisted his tongue as he took more and more of Hannibal. He gagged as he took the other's full length before drawing his head back up, just as slow. He did it again and again, letting his tongue roam over Hannibal's cock. Saliva pooled in his mouth as he went, each movement pulling a moan from Hannibal. He let go before running his tongue along Hannibal's length, keeping his eyes fixed on Hannibal's the whole time. Hannibal clearly had enough as he practically dragged Will upward once again and pinning him to the floor with surprising strength. He grabbed Will's legs, wrapping them around his hips as he lined himself up. Their lips crashed together as Hannibal pressed inward. It burned slightly, but he was suddenly lost in that pleasure once again. His arms came around the other as Hannibal grasped his shoulder. His movements were slow at first, letting Will adjust. When he started to move his hips to meet Hannibal's thrusts, the other's restraint vanished. He thrust harder and faster and Will could hear the slapping of skin on skin. He broke away from their kiss as his back arched, his chest pressing into Hannibal's. He let out a loud moan. Hannibal fisted a hand in his hair once again and pressed his lips against his neck, where he had before. 

He was completely lost. He couldn't care less about anything going on around him. He didn't hear the fire anymore, he didn't notice the dark. He didn't even really register that this was Hannibal's office where he saw patients. He bathed in wave after wave of pleasure. His hands reached for purchase against Hannibal's shoulder blades before he dragged his nails down Hannibal's back. The other snarled in his ear, a sound made him shudder. He could feel himself nearing the edge, Hannibal pushed him there with every thrust and every moan against his throat. As he came, his teeth sunk into Hannibal's shoulder. He didn't break skin, but it seemed to be just enough to pull Hannibal over with him as he felt the orgasm shudder through Hannibal's body. 

Eventually, Hannibal removed his softening length, but they stayed pressed together. His face was buried in Will's neck and Will clung to him. As he began to come back to himself, he started to pay more attention to that feeling at the back of his mind. He wanted to prod at it, poke it until he knew what it was.

"It's called a blood bond," Hannibal said against his neck. "It's rare, but it happens." They were both silent for a moment before Hannibal spoke again. "I can break it if you like. But if it's left, it will be harder to break. Almost impossible."

"What would break it?" 

"A death. Yours or mine. Or something else just as extreme."

Will swallowed thickly.

"Would you like me to break it?"

"No," Will answered quickly. He would probably regret it but his mouth answered before the rest of his brain could catch up. 

Hannibal sighed against him. "It's only emotions for now. The stronger the bonds become, the more that's shared."

"How do you know? Have you ever-" Will let the question hang without completion.

"No," Hannibal answered. "But I knew someone who did once."

Will let the word "did" sink in. The way Hannibal spoke, the hesitation in his voice, made Will realize that something terrible had happened. He decided to leave the subject for now. Hannibal rolled slightly, bringing Will with him until they were on their sides. Will was tucked under his chin. He knew they would have to clean themselves up, and soon before it became a hassle, but he couldn't remember why he felt he had to move.

"Will I become like you?"

"Only if you die in the next 24 hours."

He felt a sudden rush of worry that wasn't his own. But it was gone as quickly as it came. They lied there for a little longer before both seemed to realize that other things required their attention. An easy silence settled between them. Will's mind was blank, for the first time he could remember. He was afraid of what might happen if he popped the bubble that surrounded him. Hannibal didn't protest when he went told him he was going to his own home, perhaps because some part of him would go with Will anyway, just as some part of Will was going with Hannibal. They were connected now, in a way he never could have imagined. 

It took the sight of his house for everything to come crashing back. He slammed on the breaks, grateful that he lived in the middle of nowhere and there was no one around him. Anger at himself swelled, along with shame to a small degree. He pounded his hands on the wheel, annoyed at himself for letting it go on so long and so far. He had only wanted proof. What had he gotten himself instead? His anger boiled for a moment longer before he felt a calm sweep over him. 

Hannibal.

He took in a deep breath, letting the calm settle, and his emotions deflate. He needed sleep first, he would figure out the rest tomorrow.

He dreamed of Hannibal once again.


	7. Living and Art

Hannibal sat with one leg crossed over another while his patient, Margot, stood looking out the window. Her arm was still bound in its sling having been broken by her rather sadistic twin, Mason. Margot walked through the room, her stride as confident as ever before she sat in the chair across from Hannibal. Her light green eyes focused on him intently.

"I met another patient of yours," She said, carefully watching Hannibal's reaction. Hannibal kept his face perfectly in his mask. "Will Graham." She sensed something, Hannibal knew this. Her posture, even the smell that radiated off of her told him as much. Margot had confided in him during their first session about her proclivities. It seemed she had an inkling of Hannibal's as well. He never truly thought about what his proclivities were. He admired beauty be it in a male or female, or another gendered, form. It rarely mattered to him. Will was beautiful and had only grown more beautiful to him over time. "Perhaps I should go to him for a character reference."

"You already know what kind of psychiatrist I am, Margot."

She hummed in agreement before leaning back in the chair and studying him further. "Very unusual, indeed." She cocked her head, her hair flowing with the movement. "Have you ever been to a psychiatrist, Dr. Lecter?"

"I have," He answered. "When I first became a psychiatrist, I found one of my own."

"Do you still see them?"

"No." And it was true, he hadn't. Dr. Bedelia Du Maurier, his psychiatrist, had disappeared while Will was still in the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. He knew Bedelia had visited Will, but the extent of their conversation was unknown to him. Frederick recorded everything in the hospital, but Bedelia had found a way around it, whispering her revelation to Will. That night, Hannibal had gone to her house, intent on ending Bedelia but she was gone. It was his fault for not taking her when he had the chance, and now she was in the wind.

Margot hummed once more. Hannibal decided to change the subject.

"What have you decided about your brother?"

Margot sighed. "I've decided it was lucky that I failed to kill him before." Hannibal waited. "The Verger inheritance goes to my father's male heir and in the absence of a male heir, the sole beneficiary is the Southern Baptist Church."

"Quite a predicament."

"Yes," Margot affirmed. "And no."

Hannibal updated his notes on Margot after she left his office. His study was quiet and peaceful, but he couldn't help but remember the after-hours activities that had occurred only feet from where he sat. He leaned back in his chair, half reading over his notes and half prodding the bond that had formed between him and Will. He had only felt Will on the other half of the bond twice, once the night it was formed, and again the next day when a wave of irritation that wasn't his own swept through him. He reacted the same way both times, sending a wave of calm back through the connection. Will had calmed immediately following it and was still calm when Hannibal had seen him earlier that night. They had danced around each other, Will more relaxed and at ease than normal. The other carried tension with him at all times that seemed to dissipate the moment he stepped through the door into Hannibal's office.

Hannibal finished with his notes before climbing the mezzanine and placing them where they belonged. As he was stepping down, he suddenly felt a dull pain in his back as though he had fallen onto a hard surface. After a second his right hand began to throb. There was no one else in his office, he was alone. This wasn't him. His heart began to speed in his chest and then slowed once again. It was unusual, and for him, the unusual was worrying. He was always in complete control, but this was the first time since he was human that he ever felt as though he lost control. The first time that his body wasn't completely his own.

His mind brought him back to his final days as a human, the shadow that had followed him, and the man that came with it. He remembered the man's beard, the language he spoke, the fierceness in his eyes. It was only Hannibal then, a young man who had ventured to Florence. His aunt and uncle were friends with the well-known Medici family who Hannibal had been sent to study with, due to his admiration and passion for art. The man had followed him to Florence and he had only spent a day with the Medicis before the man finally found him. Hannibal remembered feeling his life drain from him until he was almost dead. The closest he had felt like this before was starvation after his parents had died. Mischa didn't make it. He did. And yet it felt as though it was all for nothing. That was until a metallic taste crossed his lips. Blood. He knew that taste well. He thought for a moment that he might live. Until hands grasped his neck and twisted. His neck burned and his vision went black. He was certain he saw Mischa's face once again before his body began to burn. His heart raced in his chest, his lungs ached as though he spent too long without air. He thought he screamed but he wasn't certain. His mind felt as though it was torn into a thousand pieces and then suddenly, it began to piece itself back together. He saw his parents' faces, dull but present. He saw Mischa. He saw his aunt and uncle. And then he saw the stars above him, brighter than he ever remembered. He could hear people walking through the streets and every breath they took. He could hear hearts pounding in chests, he could hear the shifting of fabric. He would later find out he had been gone a day. 

The bloodlust was the worst at first. He had torn through much of Florence before he finally managed to regain control of himself. He began to remember bits and pieces of being human, including the art. His mind started to right itself, becoming the man he once was instead of the need filled monster he had become. He discovered more and more about himself. He could move faster, he healed quickly, and despite the stories, he could walk in the sun with little problems. At first, the sun bothered him. His eyes were oversensitive, making sunlight nearly unbearable. But over the years he began to stand it. He perfected his kills and even met others like him. Including Chiyoh, a companion of his for many years. Chiyoh had been without a home for longer than Hannibal had been alive, so Hannibal offered her Castle Lecter. He couldn't return home, there were too many memories waiting for him behind doors he didn't want to open. But those didn't exist for Chiyoh. As far as he knew, she was still there. 

He looked at his watch as he came back to himself, pulled away from memories that were hidden behind closed doors. An hour had passed. Hannibal left his office, closing it for the night. He returned to his home after debating briefly if he should go to Will. There was no other explanation as to why he had the experiences that he did, but something within him told him Will wasn't at home. Hannibal walked through his house and as he neared his dining room, he heard a heartbeat, smelled death, but more importantly, he could smell Will. The chaotic, intoxication of his blood had only grown stronger after they shared, and now it pulled at him as though a rope were tied around him. He moved toward the dining room, sliding the doors open to find quite the sight before him. Will was bound in his coat and scarf, his curly hair less tamed. Curls were sprawled across his forehead, but his eyes were glued to the space between them. Hannibal looked down, finding the source of the death he smelled. He recognized the man, Randall Tier, a former patient. He remembered Randall well, having once thought himself a beast. It appeared he had accomplished that if the recent crime scenes he had been to were any indicator. Though what drove the man after Will, he wasn't certain. 

He turned and closed the doors behind him before stepping closer to Randall, seeing that he was well and truly dead. His eyes then flitted to Will and his bloodied knuckles. 

"You killed him with your hands," Hannibal said. 

Will looked down at his knuckles, flexing his hand. "It was intimate."

Hannibal dropped his gloves onto the table and walked around it, no longer interested in the body Will had brought him, but instead in the man who brought it. He stood next to Will, grasping his hand and lifting it into view. 

"It seems this is a habit of yours." Hannibal's thumb ran under his knuckles. "Sit." He ordered.

He could hear Will pull off his jacket and scarf, sitting at the end of the table where Hannibal normally sat. He grabbed a bowl and filled it with warm water and Epsom salt before grabbing a cloth and some bandages. Will apparently enjoyed using his hands, he had been quite handsy with Hannibal and before that, he remembered a similar instance after Will had decided to prove his theory. Hannibal returned to the table, shrugging off his overcoat and suit coat before sitting next to Will. The other quietly placed his hand in reach and Hannibal maneuvered it how he saw fit, first dipping it in the water before he began to clean the wounds. 

"You should be pleased." He said, filling the silence. "I am."

Will was still staring at the table. "Of course you are." He sighed slightly. "For a second, I thought you sent him to kill me."

"No," Hannibal answered. 

"I know. But the thought crossed my mind." His eyes flitted to the man on the table.

Hannibal idly thought about the difference in their courting gifts. He had left presents for the other to find much like a bird whereas Will had dragged his present directly to him similar to a cat. Silence filled the space between them once again. 

"Don't go inside Will," Hannibal said, sensing Will's retreat into his own mind. "Stay with me."

Will looked over at him, those blue eyes scanning his profile. "Where else would I go?"

Hannibal hid his satisfaction, but it was likely that Will knew it was there anyway.

"Did you know?" Will asked.

"That he would come for you? No. Though I suppose if you interviewed him he might have seen you as a threat." Hannibal paused. "But did I know when he attacked you? Yes."

He wrapped the bandages around Will's hand, suddenly feeling Will's gaze on him once again. He finished wrapping Will's hand before he met the other's gaze. 

"How?"

Hannibal looked back toward the body on the table. "Were you thinking about me? When you killed him, was it me you imagined?"

Will didn't answer, but his eyes stayed on Hannibal's face. It didn't bother him that it was he who Will pictured when he took another's life. 

"What did you feel when you killed him?"

"Alive," Will's voice was no more than a whisper. 

Hannibal didn't have to speak anymore for Will to know what he was thinking. He loosened his grip on the other's hand but Will didn't move away. Instead, he stayed there, staring at Hannibal. Hannibal mirrored him, their eyes locked together. He could see Will swallow before he finally broke away. He stood, neither of them saying a word. Will let his hand fall from Hannibal's slowly before he moved toward the body on the table once more.

He didn't offer anything else to Hannibal before he left, hauling his prize with him. But Hannibal could still feel Will hovering at the edge of his mind, content.

A few hours later, in the early hours of the morning, he was called to a crime scene. Will's crime scene. 

It appeared the other had taken a page from his book, making his victim into art for the FBI to find. As Will receded into himself as he always did at a crime scene, he found himself hovering just behind the other's shoulder, with Jack next to him. He could feel, but not fully grasp, the other's internal war and he suspected it had something to do with the man hovering at Will's other side. They hadn't torn into each other as much as he thought they might have. Will had managed to dissuade Beverly Katz from her mission, the one he had set her on. Now, she hovered around the crime scene, her eyes flitting between Hannibal and Will as though there were something she wanted to say but was afraid of saying it. Alana Bloom also hovered around the crime scene. 

He had debated seducing her, blinding her to his actions. But Will had beat him to any attempt he could fathom at bringing her into their game. Will's stunt with the wall while in the hospital had erased any other plans from his mind. He had focused solely on Will, no one else. He had plan after plan in place to remove suspicion from himself, even revealing that Jack's once student was alive and well. He supposed at some point he could still point the FBI in any direction but himself. But Will occupied him day and night, now more so than ever. 

As he thought, watching Will navigate his own crime scene as he would anyone else's, an emotion came over him, one that was not his own.

_Curiosity._

He looked up to meet Will's eyes. The other wondered what he felt about his display.

He focused on one emotion as he had before and willed it through the bond between them. 

Pride.

Will's eyes sparkled slightly before he looked away, speaking with Beverly in hushed tones. 

"Will," Jack's voice boomed over the marble. "I want a full report by noon." 

Hannibal felt a rush of annoyance before Will nodded. It was a shame Will was still human, it was unlikely he would sleep that night. Hannibal left the scene when Will did, the two venturing into the cold night air together. Hannibal's car was parked next to Will's, making them walk in the same direction until their destination. Will turned to him and Hannibal could both see and feel his debating before Will let out a sigh. 

"Goodnight, Dr. Lecter." He said finally, his voice quiet.

"Goodnight, Will."

Two days passed before anything exciting happened. He could feel Will on the other half of their shared bond, wrestling with emotions within himself. Now and then, he would receive a clear wave of irritation that Hannibal couldn't help but assume was directed at Jack. By the second day, he found himself invited to the Verger estate. It was his turn to send irritation through their bond, though it was on accident. He only realized his irritation with Mason Verger was felt by anyone else when a mix of calm and curiosity washed over him. Mason blathered on about this and that, feigning sympathy and genuine care for his sister.

"I can't disclose what Margot has said to me," Hannibal said, shutting down Mason's poor attempt at fishing for information. "Fortunately for you, I can't tell anyone."

Mason laughed in that loud, nasally way of his before offering Hannibal a pig of his own. Hannibal debated but ultimately decided against suggesting Mason himself. That night, with Will over for dinner, the other asked what he had felt earlier in the day. 

"Mason Verger," Hannibal explained. Will studied him. 

"The heir to the Verger Slaughterhouses?" Hannibal didn't answer but Will received his answer anyway. "What is he like?"

"Rude," Hannibal answered, taking a bite of the pig he was offered earlier in the day. Will stared at him across the table before taking a bite of his own, his eyes glued to Hannibal the whole time.

"Are you going to eat him?" Will inquired, taking another bite to accentuate the question.

"Whenever feasible, I always encourage eating the rude." Hannibal met Will's eyes. "Would you join me at the table?"

Will grabbed for the glass of wine, pulling it to his nose to smell it and then pushing it away again. "Free-range rude." He knew Will was avoiding the question, but he let it go anyway.

Hannibal smirked as Will sipped the wine. He set it down and offered a smile of his own. That smile went right to Hannibal's heart. He wasn't certain he had one for a long time, he never felt emotions like love or anything like it since he was a human. Since Mischa. He was painfully aware he had one now. They finished the rest of the meal in silence, each watching the other as though the other might disappear. He couldn't help but notice the way Will swallowed, watching the movement of his throat. They worked together easily as he began to clean the table. He rarely let others help in the kitchen. He had known Alana for years before he finally let her help him, and that was with trivial tasks only. Will, however, worked right at his shoulder, side by side. It was infuriatingly intimate for him and he only wanted more.

"Come tomorrow," Hannibal said as he escorted Will to the door. Will nodded but said nothing.

The next 24 hours were excruciating before Will was at his doorstep once again. Hannibal admired the way his curls sat across his forehead, the way his clothes fit him, and the way his neck was exposed all in a matter of seconds. Will shrugged off his coat before going where Hannibal directed him. It was a few minutes later than Hannibal ventured into the dining room with two plates before going back to the kitchen and returning with another dish. The fire caught Will's eyes as he studied the dish intently. Hannibal set it down between them and unbuttoned his suit jacket before sitting.

He had served ortolans. The only comment he received from Will was a question about whether or not the bones were eaten too. Hannibal watched as Will ate, watching the way his jaw moved and the bobbing of his throat as he swallowed. It was more enticing than it had any right to be. Will's eyes followed him as they always did, but with the same strange intensity as they had the night before. They ate in silence, which for once was infuriating to Hannibal. He wanted more than what Will was offering. Had the bond never existed between them, had the night they shared never happened, he would have been content with what Will gave him. But he was greedy, hungry by nature. And Will had only stroked his appetite. Will stood as Hannibal moved around the table to collect his dish and suddenly they were incredibly close. He could feel Will's breathing, hear his heart begin to speed in his chest. 

And the want. 

It was more severe than he ever imagined. The plates were removed from his hands and placed on the table. Will's face was so close to his, he could see the slight ring of gold in his eyes. Will leaned forward, pressing a hesitant kiss against his lips. Hannibal reacted, much more violently than he intended. Will's back collided with the wall next to the fireplace, but the other didn't seem to care. His arms moved around him, holding them close together. Hannibal mirrored him, wrapping one hand around Will's waist at his hips and the other grasping the back of his neck. Will's heart was speeding in his chest, a symphony he could listen to all day. They kissed each other greedily. Hannibal could still taste the ortolan on Will's lips. 

It was a ringing phone that finally caused them to tear apart. Hearing the frustrated growl that escaped Will's lips was far more intoxicating than it had any right to be. But the phone had broken then spell between them. Will retreated into himself, the want vanishing as he dug for the phone. Hannibal pulled back, finally addressing the plates left on the table. As he moved into the kitchen, he could hear Will talk in hushed tones. He sounded more frustrated than anything else, and Hannibal could hear the distinct voice of Jack Crawford. Will came into the kitchen minutes later, his eyes hard. 

"It's all right," Hannibal assured, seeing Will's dilemma pass through his eyes. 

"I'm sorry," Will said before he turned and left. 

That was last the spoke for a week. 


	8. Falling Apart

Will had not wanted to meet Mason Verger. Mason didn't care. He had only met Margot once, a passing exchange as he left his appointment and she went to hers. That was the only experience he'd had with the Verger family. And yet Mason had shown up at his door while he was feeding his dogs. He couldn't help the irritation that passed through him before he went, knowing Mason wouldn't take no for an answer. The man talked in a rather loud voice about nothing in particular. He waved his hands as he spoke. He would adjust his glasses and then run a hand through his wild, spiked hair before continuing the conversation, as though he wanted to appear untamed at all times. Will didn't answer when Mason spoke, didn't feel the need to answer until the subject shifted to that of his sister, and rather her unknown whereabouts. 

"I only met her once," Will said, cutting off the diatribe Mason was on.

"And yet after meeting you, she vanishes."

"I had nothing to do with that."

"Didn't you?" Mason sounded bored. "I know you and the Doctor are playing a game, what that is, I don't know. But it's something. And now Margot is missing."

 _Have you considered that she wanted to run away from you?_ Will thought to himself but refused to speak to Mason anymore.

He watched the scenery change as the car sped over highways and eventually into a less populated area. He could see a Verger slaughterhouse begin to form in the distance, its metal roof glinting in the sunlight. It was rather grandiose, Will would admit that. The walls were white and blank with only the Verger logo plastered on the east side. He could hear the distinct squealing of pigs as they exited the car. Mason told him one fact after another but it went in one ear and out the other. He instead evaluated the grounds around him. It was a large space, likely all owned by the Vergers. There were trees a few yards from the slaughterhouse, enough to lose himself in, but not enough to stop anyone from following him. Running wasn't an option here. He followed Mason inside.

There were two visible platforms that Will noticed as he entered. The walls were high, reaching toward the roof Will had seen on the outside. One platform was directly in front of the iron pigpen where the distinct sounds and smells of pigs came from. He could hear movement against metal as the pigs shifted. Another platform was closer to the door and surrounded by a metal railing. Will noted speakers on the platform along with a small dock for a phone to sit. 

Mason led him to an office, still talking about nothing in particular. The office was nothing too fancy, especially not when compared to the grandiose pigpen outside. A wooden door separated the office from the rest with a desk that looked like it hadn't been used much in one corner. Across from it was a couch, under one of the few windows to the outside. Mason left, leaving Will alone in the silence of the room. He looked around at the blank walls, not seeing anything exciting. That was until his heart began to race.

Too many things washed over him, his own emotions, and what were likely Hannibal's. His right side suddenly felt as if it had been electrified, the pain radiating through his rips and down his side into his legs. He cried out, dropping to his knees. He gripped his side, before pulling his hand way and evaluating it. There was no blood, he wasn't the one who was injured. This wasn't in the center of his chest or even radiating out into his arms so it wasn't a heart attack. He remembered Hannibal knowing that he had been attacked by Randall Tier. Was Hannibal being attacked now? His side suddenly flared in pain once again before his vision began to fade, white spots swimming in front of his eyes. He was gasping for air as though the wind had been knocked out of him. He shook, suddenly feeling weaker than he should be. He fell forward onto his hands, gasping. Each breath he took felt like a monumental movement. He blinked, trying to rid himself of the white spots. With each new breath he took in, he tried clumsily moving toward the couch. He pulled himself onto it, rolling so he was actually sitting on it rather than awkwardly lying. He took inhaled sharply, as the pain began to fade in his side. His heart still raced in his chest, but he was no longer concerned about that. He probed at the bond between him and Hannibal, trying to force any response from the other side. It was quiet. That worried him. What happened to Hannibal? He sat perfectly still his hand cupping his ribs for an hour.

Mason appeared in the doorway right as an emotion slid through the bond. Mild amusement.

He was going to kill him. He would find out how to kill vampires and he would kill Hannibal Lecter. His worry was overshadowed by his anger at Hannibal's amusement about whatever situation he had found himself in now.

Hannibal was still radiating amusement as Will followed Mason back into the main area of the slaughterhouse. The pigs squealed in their cages as Mason pushed a man away from Hannibal, yelling at him as he did. Will walked up the stairs slowly, forgetting everything and everyone else present. Hannibal was bound in what looked like a straightjacket and was hung in the air. He was attached to a chain that Will followed, noting it hung over the pigpen. Hannibal's eyes were glued to him the moment he appeared. Relief followed through the bond, relief at seeing Will alive. His own relief mirrored it, relief at seeing Hannibal relatively unharmed. He looked more inconvenienced than anything. Will felt himself being drawn forward, toward Hannibal. Mason began to near him once again, this time with a knife in his hand. He grabbed Will's hand and slapped the knife into it.

"Here's your chance to end the game," Mason said backing away. Will stepped closer to Hannibal, the knife adjusting in his hand. "Don't drain him," Mason warned. "Just enough to give the pigs a taste."

Hannibal continued to radiate amusement. Will knew nothing about this situation would kill him. Hannibal was still in complete control, whether or not Mason knew it. He thought for a second. If he was going to kill Hannibal, this is not how he would do it. Not with an audience. Hannibal deserved better.

He had been at war with himself for weeks about what Hannibal truly deserved and what he didn't. He tugged back and forth between telling Hannibal what Jack knew and telling Jack what Hannibal knew. His tug-of-war had only abated for one moment, the night when the bond between them was formed. But he had woken the next day with the battle renewed in his mind. He wanted to choose Hannibal, he wanted Hannibal to pay for framing, using, and manipulating him. He wanted to hold Hannibal close and he wanted to rip him apart.

The long game didn't matter at the moment though. What mattered was what happened right now.

He stepped closer, looking at Hannibal's tousled hair and the amusement in his amber eyes. He knew what he would do. 

He spun the other's body easily before using the knife to cut through the bindings around his back. Hannibal tore his way free as he felt a sharp pain in his head making him crumple easily. His head bounced off the metal floor and as his vision began to fade to black, he saw Hannibal begin to move in earnest. He couldn't help but admire Hannibal's grace, his beauty, as his vision blackened and he receded into the depths of his mind.

* * *

Will stood in his house hours later. It was dark by then but it felt sacrilegious to turn on the lights. Mason sat in a chair by the window, feeding his face to his dogs. He was only illuminated by the moon outside. It was likely not the strangest thing Hannibal had done, but it was definitely the strangest thing Hannibal had done for him. He knew the moment the other appeared at his shoulder, watching the same spectacle he was. The metallic smell of blood hovered in the air. It took everything in Will not to practically attack Hannibal right there. Where along the way Hannibal had conditioned him to associate blood and violence with sex, he didn't know. But with Hannibal standing so close and the smell of blood, it took all his restraint to keep himself together. He couldn't help but ignore Mason and instead focus on Hannibal with such intensity he made himself dizzy. Hannibal seemed to focus on him with the same intensity. Twisting, twisting. As they always were. Wrapped around each other no matter the situation. How much did Hannibal Lecter matter to him? 

This was the Chesapeake Ripper. This was a vampire, an incredibly dangerous person. And yet Will felt more alive than he ever had been wrapped in Hannibal's attention. He craved Hannibal as if he would die without him. Maybe he would.

Hannibal snapped Mason's neck with surprising ease, but the man's chest was still heaving. He wasn't dead.

_Show off._

He helped Hannibal load Mason into his Bentley before shutting the door. His dogs were inside, Mason was in the car. It was only he and Hannibal alone in the night air. All he had managed to do was confuse himself more. He _wanted_ Hannibal. He knew this. But then Jack would appear, and he would be reminded as he always was of what Hannibal had done in the past. But the emotions weren't there anymore. He didn't quite care as much what Hannibal had done to him in the past, or what he planned to do in the future. He was separate from it, as though he were a casual observer along for the ride.

He never thought he'd fall for anyone. He was always too detached, hiding behind his walls. He could empathize with anyone, not just killers, and as a result, he knew the exact moment when others began pitying him. He hated their pity. He hated the moment they started to think of him as fragile. A teacup, Hannibal once said, to be used for special occasions. But Hannibal didn't look at him that way. Hannibal looked at him as he was the most amazing thing he had ever seen. He'd crashed through his walls and found Will at the center. They were bound together intimately as if they were the same person occupying different bodies. Hannibal never once looked at him like he was fragile, easily broken. He looked at him as if he were Atlas holding the sky and earth apart. 

"What will you do with him?" Will asked.

"I think Margot should decide what's done with him." 

Will searched his eyes. "Come back," His mouth said of its own volition. "After." He glanced at Mason before locking eyes with Hannibal once again. 

"Come with me." Hannibal countered. 

"I have to-" _Get rid of the evidence._ He looked back at his house and the pack waiting at the door. He could take this evidence to Jack after Hannibal left. But all it would prove was that Mason Verger's blood was spilled in Will's house. Not who was ultimately behind the action. 

He didn't even realize how much closer he had moved to Hannibal. They were magnets, always inching closer and harder to pull away each time. He looked back at the other, their faces mere centimeters apart. 

"Come by tomorrow," Hannibal's voice was a whisper.

"Yes," Will answered before his lips found Hannibal's. He was truly lost.

What Hannibal did in between that time, Will didn't know. But the small cut next to his eye was gone by the time Will arrived at his office. Hannibal was sitting at his desk near the fire, a pencil in his hand. Will watched with fascination as it moved over the paper in slow, careful movements. He knew Hannibal was an artist, he had seen some of the other's drawings. But this was one of the few times he had seen Hannibal work. The careful way he moved his pencil, the intensity as he drew line after line. He hung his coat and moved closer, unable to stop himself. Hannibal looked at him as he approached. Will leaned slightly, finally seeing the drawing on the table. 

"Achilles lamenting the death of Patroclus." It was a beautiful drawing, but what caught Will's attention were the faces in the picture. It wasn't Achilles or Patroclus, it was Hannibal and him. Emotions threatened to choke him, rising from every corner of his mind. He still hadn't fully decided who's side he was on, still hadn't fully come to one conclusion or another except for one thing. Hannibal loved him. And he was certain he loved Hannibal too. 

He knew Jack would be a problem. He was already part of Will's problems as it was. His best choice was to, ironically, give Jack to Hannibal. Jack would have his answer and then he and Hannibal could vanish. 

As if the other could sense his train of thought, Hannibal continued speaking. "Achilles wished all Greeks would die so he and Patroclus could conquer Troy alone."

He found his dilemma coming back to him. What would he choose? Who would he choose? This had occupied him for what felt like an eternity, but in reality, he already knew his answer. He already knew who he would choose, what he truly wanted. 

Hannibal. 

He leaned on the desk next to Hannibal as the other went back to his drawing. Will watched with fascination as the picture became clearer by the second. 

This wasn't what he had imagined those months ago when he pressed Hannibal to free him from the hospital. He knew there would be manipulation involved, he knew he would have to try to lure Hannibal into doing something he could use. But Hannibal had disfigured Mason Verger in front of him and yet Will's first instinct wasn't to run to Jack. He wasn't expecting to spin so far into his manipulation that it wasn't manipulation anymore. His emotions were genuine. What he felt had become real, not a show for Hannibal, but genuine emotions.

"Alana Bloom came to my house the other day," He said, trying to subtly work up the subject he really wanted to discuss. The same subject he dreaded discussing. He would have to tell Hannibal the truth. 

"And what did she say?"

"Freddie Lounds approached her about you and me." Will had no love for Freddie Lounds. Freddie twisted the truth to fit her narrative and that truth had once been that Will was insane. Freddie was always sticking her neck into places it didn't belong. Eventually, it would be cut off. Perhaps that was something he should consider. Maybe he was truly insane, he wasn't quite certain what sanity was anymore. "She said that neither of us were the killers she was looking for, but together we could be."

"How accurate," Hannibal hummed. 

He plucked the pencil from Hannibal's fingers and set it aside. Hannibal looked at him, slightly exasperated. "That was rude."

"Was it?" Will raised an eyebrow.

"You have my full attention, Will."

"Good, because there is something we need to talk about." Hannibal folded his hands and waited. It was now or never. "You should give Jack what he wants."

"The Chesapeake Ripper," Hannibal said, following Will's train of thought. "Is that who he's chasing?" Will knew Hannibal already knew that. The question was rhetorical. "What about what you want, Will?" Hannibal's eyes searched his face. "We could leave now. Tonight." Hannibal's voice was soft. "Jack is my friend, but you are-" He stopped his train of thought. "I don't care what Jack wants, I care what you want." Hannibal stood, swiftly moving directly in front of Will. The fire behind him made him look like a shadow, but his eyes were vibrant. They seemed to bore into his soul. "Feed your dogs, leave a note for Alana, and never see her or Jack again. No more Freddie Lounds, no Vergers."

"I want to," Will admitted, also standing so he and Hannibal were closer. "But I can't. Not without knowing my dogs are taken care of." It was true. There was no way he could leave without knowing the dogs would be all right.

"Tomorrow then," Hannibal suggested. 

"Tomorrow," Will agreed. 

It was in the middle of the afternoon that things started to go wrong. 

He answered his phone seeing it was Alana and he ready to tell her that he was just about to call her, to ask her to watch his dogs. This was as close to happiness as he'd ever felt. But it wasn't happiness. It was content. He had never really felt content in his life, except when he was with Hannibal. Everything vanished with him. But the tone on the other side told Will that content wasn't an option anymore. Nothing was an option anymore. Everything was completely wiped off the board. The words died on his lips.

"Is Jack with you?" Alana asked. 

"No."

Alana paused and Will could hear her swallow thickly through the phone. "They've issued a warrant for your arrest. For acting as an accessory to entrapment and the murder of Randall Tier." Will had been so focused on Hannibal, so focused on the war within himself, he had forgotten he was part of an active investigation. An investigation that had apparently come crashing down around him without him even knowing. His heart started to race in his chest. "They've issued one for Jack as well." He had to make it to Hannibal. If he moved quickly enough they could still run. 

"Will?" Alana asked into the silence. 

His dogs began to bark. He looked out the window, first hearing the distinct cracking of snow under tires and then the day time running lights of SUVs. The FBI was already there. 

"Goodbye, Alana." He closed the phone and dropped it onto his bed.

There was no more time for debating. There was no time for anything. He knew what he had to do. It was easy for him to find his way around the FBI. They wouldn't find anyone in his house except the dogs. He quietly wished Alana would be able to take care of them. He ran into the woods, losing himself amongst the trees. Because it was winter, the sun dipped below the horizon, leaving Will alone in the dark.

 _Hannibal._ He thought, forcing the word through their shared bond. _Run._

* * *

It was a disaster when he finally arrived at Hannibal's house. He didn't know why he went there. If Hannibal had received his message, he would have left by now. There shouldn't be anyone there. Maybe he came because it was one of the places that were distinctly Hannibal. If he were to be apprehended again, being in a place that reminded him so vividly of Hannibal would be ideal. Rain had begun to fall as he took a taxi from Wolf Trap to Baltimore. It was a long drive, an expensive drive, but it helped him think. If there was a chance he had made it in time, before the FBI caught up to him, he could still leave with Hannibal. The rain came down harder as the drive continued. It was as if the world knew something he didn't. He could already feel the bone-chilling cold as the taxi pulled up in front of the brownstone. It took two seconds for him to be drenched from head to toe. He pulled his jacket around him as he ran forward.

There were a few things that he noticed as his eyes adjusted in the dark and the rain cleared his lashes. First, the door to Hannibal's house was open. Second, there was a body lying on the pavement. Third, a window was shattered and the glass was framing Alana's limp body.

Maybe Alana had come to Hannibal for comfort. She sounded distressed on the phone when she called Will, it would make sense for her to go to the home of her former mentor and longtime friend. Two people in her life were about to be arrested. But how she found her way to the pavement in the rain, Will didn't know. He rushed forward. He had once thought he felt romantic feelings for her and she was an incredibly attractive woman. But his feelings weren't what he had thought initially. Alana was a steady person and when Will was collapsing more and more due to his encephalitis, it was her who he tried to grip for balance. There was no malice between them, only slight awkwardness. But all that awkwardness vanished as Will dropped by her side, pulling off his jacket and draping it over her. 

He called for an ambulance, hoping it would hurry so Alana would live. 

"Jack-" She whispered. Blood leaked from her nose and mouth and her breathing was labored. "Jack's inside."

 _What have you done?_ He thought at himself.

"Go."

He stood, focusing on the open door in front of him. The house felt emptier than normal, as though all the life had been drained from it. Darkness crept from every corner. Will stepped lightly, as though any loud noise would suddenly cause the house to explode. _It should_ , he thought. The house should explode and take everyone inside it with it. Be done with the lot of them. No more investigations that he had started and lost control of. No more choices between two sides of himself. No Hannibal. No Will. No anything. Just death.

He walked through the house, hearing the water drip from his body onto the floor. He walked through the open doors that lead to the dining room. He saw the chairs where he and Hannibal normally occupied. The wall Hannibal had pushed him against in the heat of passion. He saw the rain falling outside the doors. He saw his own reflection, the dejected and heartbroken look on his face. He assumed the worst. He assumed that Hannibal had left with a pile of bodies behind him and Will to take the fall. He saw the herb garden on the wall and the picture of Leda and the Swan over the fireplace. He saw the lack of fire and the cold that settled in the room with it. He moved around the table and toward the opening that led toward the kitchen. Blood reflected in the lights of the kitchen, spilling out of the pantry as though someone was ripped open and spilled inside. But Hannibal wasn't there. 

He felt hopelessly lost. 

A creak behind him caught his attention and he felt himself turning slowly, hope blooming in his chest but he was hesitant to embrace it. What if it wasn't Hannibal?

It was.

Hannibal looked worse for the wear. Blood covered his white shirt, ran down his face. His hair was untamed, a strange look for him. But he looked more deadly than ever.

"You...you were supposed to leave," Will whispered. He didn't know what broke his heart more. That Hannibal was still there or that he didn't run when he had a chance. Jack was like a dog with a bone, he should have known that with an arrest pending he would have come for Hannibal. He should have known a lot of things. But he was stupid enough to blind himself to everything that wasn't Hannibal. And he was now paying the price.

"I couldn't leave without you," Hannibal answered. 

Will opened his mouth to explain. To tell him what had happened. To tell him that he had made his choice between him and Jack and that he had chosen Hannibal. That that was the reason he wanted to run. That was the reason he wanted to go with Hannibal. But no words came out.

Instead, he felt an ache, deep within his chest. It was terrible and piercing and it felt as if his heart was being slowly ripped from his chest. As if someone had stuck a red hot poker between his ribs and a fire was starting within the depths of his body. His throat began to close, his breathing grew heavier.

Hannibal placed a hand on the side of his face, a tender gesture that he did before. 

Maybe Hannibal knew. Maybe there was no misunderstanding between them. Maybe they would still leave together. Maybe Hannibal would let him explain once they were gone. Maybe he could explain why Jack had come. Maybe he could explain where he truly stood. Maybe-

His maybes died as Hannibal moved closer. 

He didn't quite feel the knife tearing at his stomach. What he felt instead was the crushing, aching heartbreak. His own and Hannibal's. Hannibal pulled him closer and Will clung to him. Pain rocked through him, but Hannibal was as steady as always. He thought he would die here, in Hannibal's arms. Strangely, he was content with that. If this was how Hannibal saw fit to punish him, he would accept it. He would face death knowing that Hannibal would know he would die to right his wrongs. 

Will's legs gave out from under him and he fell to the cold kitchen floor. He gripped his stomach, out of instinct more than anything as he forced himself to look up at Hannibal. His eyes were nearly black.

"I let you know me," His voice was surprisingly calm. "See me. I gave you a rare gift. But you didn't want it."

All Will could force himself to say was, "Didn't I?" But he tried to force the rest through their bond. He tried to tell him that he wanted the gift. That he wanted to see Hannibal for who he was. He wanted to tell him that he had given Hannibal more than that gift. That he had shown him himself. 

_I love you._

His vision began to blacken and heartache replaced the pain in his abdomen. Nothing he had ever felt compared to this. His body tipped, blood seeping between his fingers. Hannibal walked away and Will couldn't help but think that he had ripped his heart out and taken it with him.

Who was Will Graham without Hannibal Lecter?

He didn't know.

Will faded into the darkness, hoping death would consume him.

* * *

_"Not all rooms in my memory palace are beautiful, light, and bright. Some are dark. Those doors should never be opened." Will couldn't help but stare at Hannibal, memorizing his features and every inch of him. He focused on the curve of Hannibal's lips, the deep amber of his eyes. The timber of his voice as he spoke. The way his hair sat on his head, the way he held himself. Will memorized everything, storing it within the depths of his mind to comfort him on the days Hannibal wasn't there. "The foyer of my palace is the Norman Chapel in Palermo. Brilliant, beautiful, and timeless. I remember visiting it, seeing the reminder of mortality carved into the floor. A skull." Hannibal smiled wistfully. "I went there not long after I was turned. It was the most beautiful thing I had seen at the time."_

_Will smiled, listening to Hannibal speak. Hannibal described the chapel in such detail, Will could picture it around him. He could see the white marble, the skull in the floor. He could see the apostles on the walls and Jesus in the background. He could see the stairs that led to the catacombs. He could see the choir in front of him and a younger Hannibal next to him, dressed as extravagantly as ever, his eyes closed listening to the music._

_"All I need is a stream."_


	9. Bonds, Bones, and Breaks

Eight months wasn't a long time for someone like him. Normally, it could pass in the blink of an eye. But the eight months between leaving Baltimore and Will finding him in Florence were excruciatingly long and painful. 

It was surprisingly easy for Hannibal to slip from the country without the FBI finding him. He had, after all, injured two FBI consultants and potentially killed the head of the FBI's Behavior Science division, unless of course, Jack didn't remove the piece of glass from his neck. Jack was a smart man, and a strong one at that, it was likely he would live. The FBI wouldn't find him in time.

The bond between him and Will should have broken. He had once told Will that it would take death to break the bond between them. But that wasn't strictly true. A heinous act committed by one side against the other, such as Hannibal slicing Will's abdomen open with a knife, could potentially break the bond. When he didn't feel anything beyond his own heartbreak, he assumed it was broken, the damage was done. He assumed Will was gone from him. There was only one explanation for why Jack Crawford had shown up at his door with a mind to kill him. Will hadn't chosen him. 

_Hannibal. Run._

The thought had come through with perfect clarity to the point that Hannibal wondered how the bond between the two of them was a strong as it was. He had only fed from Will once, and while the bond did grow stronger over time, it would grow even stronger the more blood they shared. Not enough time and blood had passed for Will to be able to send a thought that clear between the two of them. If things had gone differently, it would have been something he meditated on more. As it was, it didn't matter now.

Hannibal washed the copious amounts of blood off of him in Bedelia's shower. Bedelia had vanished, no one would think to look for him at her house. It was easy enough to for him to find his way in, he had done it before. Jack's blood, Will's blood, his own blood went down the drain. He wasn't exactly surprised to find Bedelia sitting on her bed, a gun pointed at him and a glass of wine in her other hand. It should have been amusing, but in fact, he couldn't feel anything at all. Anything other than his heartache. 

The pair had flown first to Paris, where he killed a man and assumed his identity. It wouldn't take much more for him to secure a new life on the other side of the planet.

The night after Roman Fell died and Hannibal was reborn, he was lying in his bed. He had just finally fallen asleep, his mind drifting into that peaceful nothingness when he was suddenly jerked awake. His mind was in a million places, his thoughts scattered. He sat straight up, his chest heaving in the dark. He searched around him, trying to figure out why exactly he had suddenly woken. There was no one else in the room, he wasn't being threatened. He could hear Bedelia asleep in the next room over and there were no other sounds or smells radiating from the hotel room. Outside, cars and people passed by all perfectly content to continue along with their lives, unaware of the man a few stories above them. His thoughts snapped back into place and realization struck him like lightning. It wasn't his thoughts that had been scattered. It was someone else's. Someone who returned to the waking world, alive.

Will.

He knew Will would live. He had been a surgeon several times in other lives, including the one he had just ended in Baltimore. He knew exactly where to cut Will and ensure that he would live. He had also given the other an out that he didn't have before. He could go back to his life now; his life before Hannibal. Jack would spin the story so that it worked in their favor. Neither of them would be outside the law. It would be Hannibal who was the monster and Jack and Will his victims. But that bond was still there between them. He could still feel Will at the other end, though his end was carefully guarded. He was afraid to hope.

Hannibal lied back on the bed, letting out the breath he didn't know he was holding. 

Hannibal and Bedelia moved onto Florence a week later. He had always loved Florence. It was brighter and louder than he remembered, but it still had the same majestic feel as it had another lifetime ago. The first time he had been to Florence, when he was changed, the Duomo hadn't been completed. It was empty, hanging in the sky unfinished. Construction of the cathedral had begun almost 200 years before Hannibal ever stepped foot in Florence, and by the time he returned to Florence once again, the Duomo and its majestic dome were complete. The streets were more crowded than they had been the first time he was there, but everything was exactly where he remembered it. He could still make his way to the Medici house and could see from the street the room he had occupied for only one night. He hadn't been able to step foot in the Medici house after he was turned, one of the unfortunate side effects of his change.

The term vampire wasn't coined until nearly 300 years after he was turned, and by then he never really thought of himself as one.

The mythology was slightly correct. Those like him didn't cope well with the sun. The stronger and older ones could walk in the sun with little annoyance, but for the younger ones, the sun was too much for their newly heightened senses. It had been for him. Often they hunted at night for this reason. Also, it was easier to hide in the dark and the shadows, especially when one could manipulate the shadows to their advantage. He couldn't change into a bat and crosses didn't bother him, though it didn't stop Italy from trying. Thresholds, however, were a problem. There was something sacred about a threshold that spanned years before he was ever born. Husbands carried their new brides over thresholds. Some religions had newlyweds jumping over a broom, signifying their entrance into a new life. That also counted as a threshold. Dead blood didn't bother him, diseased blood wasn't exactly appetizing but he could drink it. Garlic didn't harm him. In fact, he loved using garlic in his cooking. Leave it to one man to start a whole myth about garlic. He and Vlad Tepes, also known as Vlad Dracul, had been alive at the same time, though they had never crossed paths. It was he who started the myths that followed Hannibal into the present. Tepes had an allergy to garlic, something rare at the time but not entirely unheard of. He also had an allergy to silver. Hannibal couldn't help but laugh when someone threatened him with silver, not knowing it was utterly useless. He had a reflection, his picture could be taken, he could pass for human incredibly well.

He spent a day in Florence exploring places he had been before, seeing what had changed in the 20 years since his last visit. He was incredibly skilled at hiding in plain sight, even making himself look younger than he actually was. It was how he could stay in one place for so long. The last time he was in Florence, he had made his own version of Botticelli's art. He had met Botticelli once that first day in Florence. He admired the man's art immensely to the point he replicated it with his victims years later. The _Questura di Firenze_ had torn his home apart searching for evidence, evidence they never found. The man who headed the _Questura_ was ruined; a man named Rinaldo Pazzi. He doubted Pazzi forgot him and he was still being hunted by the FBI, so he was careful when he ventured out. But he couldn't resist seeing the sights, refreshing them in his memory palace. 

He ventured to the Uffizi Gallery, which had been constructed nearly 100 years after his first venture into Florence. It was just as beautiful when it was first constructed as it was seeing it anew. As he sat in the gallery looking at the _Primavera_ , words echoed in his mind; words that he did not speak.

_Because I wanted to run away with him._

* * *

It took little effort to insert himself as the new curator at a museum under the guise of Roman Fell. He had read Dante's _Divine Comedy_ when it was first published when he could still remember what it was like to be human. He had not forgotten a bit of it, but he read it again from time to time. It was all too easy for him to woo the smug Florentine academic crowd with his original Italian memorization of Dante. The language had evolved over time, and in many different places across Italy, but older versions of Italian always stayed the same. 

A man named Anthony Dimmond, whom he had met briefly in Paris when he was stalking Roman Fell, had found him once again.

He knew what he had to do. Dimmond had been Fell's TA at Cambridge, and thus a threat when the man walked into the room during "Roman Fell's" lecture. But Dimmond said nothing and even went so far as to reaffirm Hannibal's identity. That was all he needed from the man. He could hear Bedelia's heart speed in her chest as he bashed Dimmond's head in. Dimmond reminded him of Will, not completely but enough that it renewed the pain in his chest. The curly of his hair, his personality, the darkness hidden in the depths of his eyes. But this wasn't Will, and Will was the only one he wanted. It would be difficult dragging a body to Palermo, but he knew that's where Will would go first. And that's where he would leave his present. He was perpetually a creature of habit. He had cultivated a taste for food, for people, for places. Norman Chapel was one of them. He remembered the first time he stepped foot in it, after leaving Florence. The Norman Chapel was a grand building that was well preserved over time. The walls stretched to the heavens as though the intricate paintings of the apostles and Jesus could be lifted into Heaven itself from the chapel's walls. At night, a hush settled over the chapel. It was quiet and verging on dangerously calm inside, as if the figures on the walls were watching more intensely in the dark, as though they were watching what the sun could not. He left his prize over the skeleton on the floor, watching for a moment as blood dripped down he swords that held it in place. 

He waited for two days before Will finally appeared. He looked healthy, the wound in his abdomen presumably healed. He was dressed incredibly well, his hair perfectly tousled. He once again wore his glasses, hiding from the world. He watched as Will sat on the stairs near where Hannibal had left his prize. His eyes closed and he receded into himself. Will's eyes moved behind his eyelids, as though he were reading a book that was printed within. It was always fascinating for him to watch, but now it was heartbreaking to watch. Will came back to himself with a gasp before pulling up his knees and draping his arms over them.

"He left his broken heart," Will whispered into the nothingness around him.

He looked incredibly dejected. He had once asked Will if he had ever experienced abandonment.

_Abandonment requires expectation._

Hannibal left his post on the higher floors. He could another approach Will as he moved through the chapel. Hannibal knew his way around it easily, having been there several times in his life. He found his way into its depths as voices echoed above him. He could hear the conversation bounce back and forth before it became quite and Will spoke in a whisper. Hannibal stepped into the catacombs. It was only minutes later that Will followed. 

"Hannibal." Will's voice rang around him clear as a bell. He paused for a moment, embracing the sound that washed over him like cool water on a hot day before he began maneuvering through the candles, pillars, and decayed bodies. It was exactly the same as the last time he was within its depths, though the last time he had been alone.

He heard, rather clearly now, the other man who had approached Will in the chapel above. He remembered that voice. Rinaldo Pazzi. As he suspected, the man hadn't forgotten him and had traveled from Florence to Palermo to find him, to prove _Il Mostro_ was alive and well and not dead in a Florentine prison. He had failed to prove that it was Hannibal behind the bodies the first time, he would fail again. He could hear Will's voice, low and intimidating, echo through the catacombs. If he had been human, he might have been afraid. However, he was the most dangerous monster in the catacombs at the moment, Though Will was nearly as dangerous in his own right. He moved through the catacombs, hearing Will's heartbeat echo around him. He could smell the other, he could hear his footsteps. It was as though they took steps at the same time, walking their respective routes together. He knew exactly where Will was, but he didn't go to him. He stayed close enough, however, that he could hear Will, that he could almost touch him if Will turned the right direction, but he was just far enough to be out of sight. 

"Hannibal," Will called again, his voice echoing across stone and bone. 

He paused in his steps, almost ready to leave the underground dance he was currently engaged in. But Will's voice held him in place, as though he were nailed to the floor, waiting for Will to free him.

"I forgive you." The whispered declaration hurt him more than anything else Will could have said at that moment.

By the time he returned to his shared apartment, he couldn't withhold his tears. 

Bedelia spent the next week trying to wiggle her way into Hannibal's head. Ever the psychiatrist, she tried approach after approach to find her way inside. He played the piano while she pried. Meals came and went, bodies came and went, and Bedelia kept pushing her way through, filling in the blanks when Hannibal didn't answer. He should have felt offended, should have thought her prying rude, but he didn't. It was much like having a dartboard and throwing the darts blindly at it. Eventually, one would make its target, but there would be plenty of misses along the way. 

"You want them to find you, don't you?" Bedelia asked, sipping a glass of wine as she did. Hannibal didn't answer and Bedelia sucked in a breath. "I see." She rose, moving toward him. "It's not _them_ who you want to find you. It's _him._ " Hannibal looked up over the piano, looking through the open cover and at the wall behind it. The last notes of "Cavatina" echoing around the room. He rested his fingers on the ivory, feeling the smooth texture under them, the slight indents from fingers playing over the years.

With Will Graham in Italy, there was no doubt others would follow, Jack Crawford among them. It was riskier now to be leaving a trail of bodies for others to find, as Bedelia was subtly attempting to point out to him. But as she had also noticed, it wasn't the FBI or anyone else he had left behind that he was leading to him. It was Will. 

"Where will he go next?" Bedelia asked, cocking her head to better see Hannibal at eye level.

Hannibal's voice was lower than he meant it to be. "Home." He felt a tear drop to his cheek and he looked away.

Two days later, a vision swam before his eyes. He saw his home, a place he hadn't been since he was human. His memories of home were dulled compared to everything that had come later and idly he found himself wondering if Castle Lecter was truly his home or if maybe something, or rather someone, had taken its place. He could see the towers reaching toward the sky, the stone exterior, and vines that climbed it. He could see the dark windows he had once looked out of and the rooms Mischa had once played it. It was as though Mischa was suddenly with him as he saw the home they had once occupied. He saw the chained gates, the plant-covered iron fence that cut off the castle from the rest of the world. He could see the trees growing wild and untamed around the edge of the property and the forest that had grown outside it over the years.

He could easily visualize Mischa, young vibrant Mischa, running across the stones, her voice echoing in the wind.

 _Come on, Hannibal!_ She called with a giggle. Her brunet hair bounced around her shoulders and her grass-green eyes sparkling in the afternoon sun. One of her little hands was extended toward him, beckoning him to follow her further into the garden. As she ran, her dress flowed behind her and her shoes were slowly being covered in mud. Her face was lit with happiness.

_I'm coming, Mischa._

Hannibal returned to himself, his throat tight with emotions. 

He continued about his daily business and his position as the museum curator, examining and researching priceless artifacts. The exhibit was rather morbid, showing all the ways people were killed in previous times. Iron maidens, skulls bridles, the ropes used for drawing and quartering, maces, swords, even one of the massive pillars Tepes used to impale his victims on. Jack had once opened an Evil Minds Museum. Hannibal worked in another. The second day Pazzi came sniffing around was the day Hannibal knew his life in Florence was over. It was obvious that Pazzi had been bought by someone from the way he acted, and his mind connected the pieces, understanding that the price on his head was set by Mason Verger. Perhaps it was rash to have him cut off his face and feed it to Will's dogs, but the effect it had made the risk well worth it. Pazzi, however, proved not to be the problem. He was easily hung out the window, his bowels dangling in the night air.

The problem was Jack.

He had fought Jack before. The fact that Jack walked away from the fight was testament enough to his strength. Everyone else who had fought Hannibal was dead. 

He couldn't help the sardonic laugh that escaped his lips as Jack kicked him through one of the many glass cases. But it wasn't Jack's action or his own pain that made him laugh. Somewhere in the world around him, Will had also managed to find himself in a precarious position. He could feel Will, the pain in his leg and half of his face and head, the half Hannibal hadn't managed to injure this night. It was as though they were in one body and each of their halves was being brutalized by different sources. He quietly thanked his foresight as he slid down the body of Rinaldo Pazzi, falling to the ground. Jack Crawford may be one of the two humans on the planet who could actually kill him.

The other, of course, was Will Graham.

He returned to his shared apartment, cleaning the blood off of himself and letting Bedelia stitch his wounds. He hadn't fed in a few days and as a result, his healing was slowed. Oh, he would still heal faster than any human, but not at his normal pace. He would have to feed again and soon, lest he be vulnerable. 

He would have to leave the city. Jack was on his trail and the _Questura_ would soon join him, once the body of Pazzi was discovered. Before he could leave Florence, however, there was one place he had to return first. The one place he knew Will would find him.

He sat in the gallery for hours, sketching the _Primavera_ as he had before. He drew Bedelia and Will into the art, making it his own. He had done something similar before, but with bodies. As he began adding the details to his drawing, he felt a pang of insane, vicious jealousy. He didn't expect Will to be the jealous type, but the intensity wiped any preconceived notions from his mind. As he was finishing some of the finer details, he knew Will was near. His scent hit him first, that chaotic intoxication of his blood and that ridiculous aftershave over it. Then he heard Will's heart, steady until he rounded the corner where it began to speed. Will limped toward him and around the bench until he sat, taking his place at Hannibal's side.

He had never seen anything as beautiful before in his life. The other took his breath away. He could feel his heart speed in his chest, suddenly coming back to life after eight months of silence. Florence and all its art, the death and art he had made with his own hands, the Norman Chapel and its reminder of mortality. All of it paled in comparison to the man next to him. He talked about God, talked about religion as if he knew both intimately. To an extent, he did. But he had never truly found religion until Will Graham. His god was next to him now, and he bathed in his light.

"If I saw you every day, forever Will, I would remember this time."

Will turned to look at him, first fighting the smile on his lips and then embracing it and the small laugh that came with it. Hannibal could vaguely smell Chiyoh on Will's clothes, but it was faint. They hadn't been together in a few hours. His face was full of cuts and scratches and there was a bruise forming under his right eye. He idly wondered what Will had been through and if he looked any better.

"How is Chiyoh?" Hannibal asked.

"She pushed me off a train," Will answered nonchalantly as if getting pushed off trains was a normal occurrence for him. 

"Atta girl."

Chiyoh was actually older than Hannibal and had been turned before he was born. But they had known each other for years, lifetimes. For a while, they were the only family each other had.

Will was calm next to him, his eyes moving back and forth between the art on the wall and Hannibal next to him. Every time those eyes would land on him, he would be lost in their depths once again. The pair limped their way from the Uffizi Gallery so close their shoulders were almost touching. He could feel Will next to him filling a hole Hannibal didn't even know was there.

Several things happened at once. First, Hannibal suddenly felt as though he were in danger. Second, the wind changed and he caught the distinct scent of Chiyoh. Third, a silenced gunshot rang in his ears. Fourth, Will cried out in pain.

Hannibal's first instinct was to cover Will's body with his own, to protect him. And then he saw the knife. He swallowed thickly, picking Will and the knife off the ground. He took them to the house of one of his many victims in Florence. It was empty as the previous owner had been a bachelor and since it no longer belonged to anyone, Hannibal could cross the threshold. Hannibal deposited Will onto a couch before offering him some water. One of Will's thoughts came through their bond and it took everything Hannibal had to refrain from laughing.

_She's a goddamned vampire, why did she use a gun?_

Whatever happened between Will and Chiyoh, he didn't know. But he knew that Chiyoh must have thought Will a threat, even though he was marked. Those like him would never touch a human that shared a bond with another. They weren't appetizing anymore, for one, and they were risking a terrifying death by the one with the other half of the bond. Humans didn't notice it, but those like him did. Chiyoh wouldn't kill him, but she had always been protective of Hannibal. Protective to the point that the only other resident in Castle Lecter was the one who turned Hannibal. If Chiyoh was out and about, it was likely the tenant was dead.

He pulled Will's jacket from him, feeling and hearing Will's pain. Hannibal pulled him closer and Will sighed into his touch, though it was hard to tell if it was from pain or comfort. The smell of Will's blood washed over him and he couldn't help but inhale.

He delayed as best he could, fighting the instincts within himself. He waited for Will to wake from the medication. He waited as he tried to feed Will. He waited for Jack to show. He waited for Jack to wake from his medication. He moved slowly while Will sat perfectly still as if he accepted his fate. But Hannibal didn't accept it. He was relieved, though he didn't show it, when the _Questura_ burst into the room. He bit back his possessiveness when they touched Will. He knew what was coming. He knew who he was facing. Ironically, he owed Mason Verger a debt. He didn't know if he could have survived taking Will's life. He likely would have taken his own with it.

* * *

He enjoyed the irony of hanging upside in the back of the refrigerated truck. One of the many myths about those like him were that they could turn into bats or hung upside down to sleep. It wasn't true, but this was amusing to him. He could leave at any time, it would take very little effort to do so. But his fatal flaw was likely his curiosity. It always got the better of him. It was doing so again now.

It was dark inside the truck. He could smell the pigs hanging around him, but more importantly, he could see and smell Will next to him. Still alive, but slightly annoyed. 

He was amused at how unfazed Will was by everything. When Mason addressed Will directly he looked bored, as though Mason was below him; an ant yelling at him from the ground, something he couldn't be bothered with. As they were planted at Mason's table, Hannibal on one side and Mason on the other with Will in the middle, Will hardly seemed to care. He sat facing the wall, his head lolling back and forth between Mason and Hannibal as though their banter was a boring game of tennis. When Mason addressed the reason for Will's presence, Will seemed more sarcastic than anything.

"You're going to eat him with my face?"

"Yes." Mason drawled. 

"What will you do after you have eaten me?" Hannibal asked. He was entertained by the fact that they thought they could. He wanted to see how long this game would last before the rest of them lost. He would win, he always did. But this was the most entertaining thing that had happened to him in months, except for Will finally appearing in Florence.

"You could torment some children, tear apart some foster homes," Will suggested.

Had Will always been that snarky? He wanted more.

"Cordell," Mason said, ignoring Will and addressing the man who had been doing the majority of the work since they had arrived. "Mr. Graham looks a little dry." 

The other man moved around the room, moving closer to Hannibal.

"I'm curious, what will be the first cuts of me you serve?"

"The first course, of course, will be your hands and feet, served on a Promethean barbeque." Anger and possessiveness ran through him, emotions that were not his own. Will kept his mask of indifference, just as Hannibal kept his mask of amusement, but both knew better. Cordell continued to explain before he grabbed a small container of lotion and moved back toward Will.

Will was more extraordinary than Hannibal had ever given him credit for. The moment Cordell's face moved too close to Will, he took his chance. Hannibal could hear the tearing of flesh, could smell the blood as it wafted around the room, could hear the grunt of pain, as Will ripped a piece of flesh from the other man. He spat it onto the empty plate in front of him, his face still carefully indifferent as he looked at Hannibal. His mouth was covered in blood and all Hannibal could think was how incredibly proud the sight made him. He smiled as Will's eyes met his, unable to refrain from taking in the beauty before him.

Minutes later, he was wheeled from the dining room into the pens he had first seen upon entering Muskrat Farm. He was stripped of his clothes and bound to chains attached to the ceiling and ropes to the wooden pen. This would be a little more difficult to escape, but he could still do it. He debated leaving sooner when he heard coals shift and smelled, more than felt, his flesh burning. He let the other man monologue, letting him expend his energy. He didn't have much longer to live, after all, he should use the time he had left. 

Mason planned to have Cordell remove Will's face. Hannibal would take Cordell's life.

He was bound in the pen, his arms pulled behind his back and his legs still tied to the posts. There was a collar around his neck, holding him in an awkwardly bent position inside the pen. It was an odd experience, but strangely not humiliating. It was likely because, through all of this, he still was in control. He evaluated his surroundings, seeing the guard at his post by the door and the pigs surrounding him in their pens. His escape came in the form of Margot Verger, approaching him for the first time since he had been brought to Muskrat Farm. Her belly was round and swollen as though she were about to burst. It took tremendous effort for her to kneel to face him. They talked for a moment before Margot brought her hand to her belly.

"It's a girl."

He knew exactly where this train of thought was going. Her father's will. Before any more could be said, Alana Bloom found the two of them. She walked with the assistance of a cane, likely due to her fall from Hannibal's window. Fall wasn't exactly accurate, Hannibal had pushed her to the edge and Alana did the rest. A silenced gunshot echoed as the guard by the door fell. Hannibal mentioned the pocket knife in the dead guard's pocket. Margot stood with a grunt as Alana kneeled to take her place.

"Are you going to kill Mason?"

"Margot is," Hannibal answered.

"I was trying to save Will from you," Alana admitted, her sky-colored eyes hard. "But now you're the only one who can save him." She narrowed her eyes at him. "Promise me."

Hannibal smirked. "I promise." The door between them opened and she knelt closer once again. "Take some hair. Put it in Mason's hand after he's dead."

Alana evaluated him. "Could I have ever understood you?" Her voice was a whisper.

"No." But Will could.

She cut one of the bonds on his hand, freeing him to reach for the knife. It was easy to free himself from there. He stood and stretched, removing the collar from his neck as he did. Excitement ran through him. It had been years since he had truly embraced the darkness within him. Years since he killed without leaving art behind, but killed just to kill. He was newly changed the last time he left a pile of death in his wake. Death he hadn't bothered to make into art. There was still art, beauty, in death, but this wasn't his goal now. Death for the sake of death was what he wanted. He was excited to enjoy it now. He dressed and searched around him for a tool he could use to aide him. He didn't need it, he could easily rip into someone with his bare hands. But he enjoyed having an extension of himself. A knife, a scalpel. This time, he chose a hammer. 

It was like they lined up for him. Guard after guard fell victim to him. He tore through them, watching blood, bones, and brains spill onto the floor. Person after person fell. He felt alive. He felt powerful. His hammer sung against bone as the next guard flew backward, his brain exposed to the air. He nearly ripped the head clean off another. Only bits of his spinal cord held him together. One by one, they died and the floor soaked with their blood. He stepped outside into the night. He could leave. There would be no one to follow him, he could flee cleanly and all his problems would be solved right then.

He took a breath of the night air and turned around, moving back through the Verger estate. He could feel pain bloom next to his temple and his rage soared. 

He snapped Cordell's neck with a swift twist, knowing he would die, unlike when he snapped Mason's. Will lied on one table, strapped down and with blood running from a small incision on his face. Near him lie Mason, unconscious from medication. He could see Will fading in and out of consciousness. The man hadn't had real sleep in 36 hours, maybe more. Tossed from a train, shot, medicated by Hannibal, nearly sawed open by Hannibal, dragged to the U.S., and then drugged once again. He pulled another table forward and began his work. 

It was two hours later when he finally left the Verger estate, Will lying across his arms. It was a productive two hours, a bargain spun with Margot and Alana. Guards followed him but they were easily dispatched by gunshots from the tree line. Chiyoh. 

It didn't take him too long to return Will to his house. He cleaned Will up first, bandaging the side of his face. He lied Will in his bed, running a hand over the other's curls before he moved to clean himself up. It took longer for him to make himself presentable than it had for Will. He was drenched in blood from head to toe. He returned to Will, deciding to lie on the bed next to him. He could see Will blink into the darkness before he rolled his head toward Hannibal. He blinked rapidly as if he were fighting sleep, but Hannibal could tell there was something he wanted before sleep claimed him.

"Hannibal," He whispered. He craned his neck, giving Hannibal a perfect view. He knew what Will was offering, but he found himself hesitating. As if Will could read his thoughts, he shifted slightly. "It's ok."

It was enough to push him over the edge. He moved over the bed, feeling every injury he had sustained and avoiding everywhere Will was injured. Even in the dark, he could see Will's eyes following him. The moonlight from the window was just bright enough that it gave Will's hair a halo and lit his eyes with an extraordinary light. He covered Will's body with his own but before he took what he wanted, he brought his wrist to his mouth, nicking his flesh. He couldn't help his need to give Will something in return. He pressed his now injured wrist against Will's mouth and Will reacted greedily. Pleasure shot through him as though he had been struck by lightning. He lowered his face to the other's neck, first breathing in his scent and then feeling his fangs extend. They sunk into tender flesh and Will moaned against his wrist. He gripped his side as he drank. Will's blood was like the world's best drug to him. It ran through him, into his fingers and toes. It propelled his heart as though it were a train and Will's blood was the coal. The bond between them grew and he was lost in Will's mind. His pleasure was Will's and Will's pleasure was his. Pure pleasure bounced between them, snowballing in intensity as it did. Will grasped at the back of his head, holding the two of them together.

He, eventually, forced himself to pull away and Will let his wrist fall. Will blinked at him once more before his eyes rolled back into his head and his breathing deepened. Will was asleep. 

Hannibal woke well before Will did. He moved to a chair, sitting next to Will, and watching him sleep. He realized, as the shadows of the morning danced across Will's face, just how wrong he had been. Will crossed an ocean to find him. Whatever he had thought before was gone. There was no betrayal, no real separation between them. Will had chosen him and like a fool, he hadn't realized. He was rarely ever foolish, but Will seemed to bring out every aspect of him, the best and the worst.

He heard shifting on the porch outside and decided to visit the one who caused it. He and Chiyoh hadn't truly spoken in years, but neither of them needed to. They were at peace with one another, they knew where the stood. Chiyoh had helped him after he was turned and Hannibal had helped Chiyoh at her lowest moment. He wasn't certain either of them would be there if not for the other. 

"Will you go home?" He asked. "Can you?"

Chiyoh offered a small smile. "I've never been able to go home. But I made a new one." She looked through the window at Will's sleeping form. "What is he to you?"

Hannibal followed her gaze. "I don't know."

Chiyoh promised to watch over him. With a small smile, she moved off the porch and into the winter landscape. Hannibal admired the rifle that was almost the size of her as she went. Chiyoh had always been partial to projectile weapons. Bows, slingshots. He once saw her use a trebuchet. He never knew terror until that moment. And now it was a gun.

He knew the exact moment Will awoke inside. His breathing changed and he could hear the bed shift. He ventured back in, moving toward the chair he had occupied before Will woke up.

The other adjusted on his bed, shifting so he was sitting up. They were silent for a few minutes.

"Just as your mind palace is growing, so is mine. We share some rooms now." Hannibal looked over Will. He looked tired in every way possible. His curls were sprawled across his forehead, covering the wound Hannibal had left. He wore one of his copious flannels and his legs were covered by the blankets of his bed. It wasn't exactly warm in Will's house at the moment. Will was more susceptible to the cold than he, but even he felt the chill of the morning. "I've discovered you there, victorious."

"There is no victory when it comes to you and me."

"We are a zero-sum game?" 

Will sighed. Hannibal could feel the bond between them and he could feel as Will began to close it off. He sunk into himself once again, fortifying the walls that Hannibal had worked so hard to tear down. 

"I'm not going to look for you. I'm not going to follow you." Will's words were quiet, but he almost wished they were yelled. It hurt worse hearing the way they left Will's mouth. "I don't want to know where you are or what you do." Will's eyes finally found his. "I can't do this anymore." He could see the pain his eyes, the hurt that danced beneath those irises. Hannibal opened his mouth to answer, but Will cut him off. "Goodbye, Hannibal."

It took a moment for the words to truly sink in. It took even longer for him to react. He stood slowly, hoping Will would change his mind and call him back. The hope died the moment the door closed behind him. He couldn't leave though, not truly. It was hard enough knowing Will had traversed the planet to find him. It was worse knowing that he wouldn't do it again. He had been hurt, Hannibal was the cause. He moved away from the porch and instead joined Chiyoh in the trees behind the house. They sat in silence as Will puttered around inside and eventually, released a scream of anguish. The two of them watched the snow fall to the ground and the silence that came with the winter.

It was night when the FBI came. The massacre at Muskrat Farm and the dead in Italy would bring them looking for Hannibal. He could see the lights dancing in the distance, reflecting off the snow and he could hear the cracking as tires rolled over the frozen ground. Hannibal looked over at Chiyoh, but neither said anything. She knew what he was going to do. He moved back toward the front of Will's house.

"He's gone, Jack." 

Jack let out a huff of disappointment. His disappointment wouldn't last.

"Jack!" Hannibal called.

He moved toward the man who watched him carefully. His arms were raised in submission and as he neared the several armed men around him, he dropped to his knees. 

"You finally caught the Chesapeake Ripper, Jack." The other scoffed. "I want you to know where I am. Where you can always find me."

But he wasn't talking to Jack anymore. Instead, he was talking to Will. Will had not only fortified his mental walls but his physical ones as well, once again hiding behind the shield that was his glasses.

He would wait for Will. He would wait minutes or years or decades or an eternity if Will asked him to. But he would be there when Will needed him again.

And now Will knew it too.


	10. Three Years Later

Will stepped out into the sunlight, unbuttoning his suit jacket as he did. It was cold in the courtroom, but it would only take a few seconds for the outside to warm him to the core. The courtroom was cold for many reasons, but he tried to force those reasons away. He tilted his face upward, feeling the sun bathe him in warmth and light. For a moment, everything melted away. Why he was there, everything that he led him to this point. Instead, it was just him and the sun. That was until a click of a camera brought reality crashing back in. He tilted his head downward and opened his eyes. He was greeted by bright curly red hair and turquoise eyes which had just emerged from behind the lens of a camera.

"Hello, Freddie," Will let his irritation seep into his voice.

"That was quite a good picture. I can send you a copy if you like."

"What are you doing here, Freddie?"

Will had seen her briefly in the courtroom, sitting in the back. He was almost surprised she didn't have a bowl of popcorn with her. Her eyes scanned over everything. The judge, the jury, the lawyers, the spectators, Hannibal, and Will himself. She took notes, her pen flying over the notepad she brought with her as though every second was worth detailing. If someone so much as readjusted in their seat, Freddie took notes on it. She had been especially attentive when Will took the stand.

Will did his best to avoid looking at anyone or anything in particular as he sat in front of the jury. His eyes were glued to the back of the courtroom as if the most interesting thing in the world was pinned to the walls. That didn't stop Hannibal from watching him. The moment his name was called, Hannibal's attention was caught. His amber eyes watched every step he made, every movement of his hands. He studied his face, watched the movement of his lips as he spoke. Will had been hesitant to testify at Hannibal's trial. The defense was using an insanity plea. Insanity pleas were notoriously difficult to pull off. It was difficult to convince 12 people that everything the defendant did was because they weren't in their right mind. It would be even more difficult for Hannibal. His every action was deliberate, precisely calculated to have a certain effect. Convincing a jury that the meticulous Chesapeake Ripper, who once used a man's tongue as a placeholder in his bible and left another sitting across the aisle from himself on a bus, was, in fact, insane would be a tedious task. But it was those same actions that could potentially be used in Hannibal's favor. Will was subpoenaed by both the prosecution and defense to testify. And therein lied his dilemma. He could testify that Hannibal was completely within his right mind with every choice he made, or he could testify that Hannibal was insane at the time of the murders he was accused of. Will slipped once as he took the stand, his eyes sliding to Hannibal's.

The other's face was a perfect mask. A mixture of calm and curiosity and even a hint of amusement. But the moment Will's eyes met his, there was undeniably something else hidden in those depths. 

Will had debated for weeks leading up to the trial what he would say when he took the stand. His testimony could put Hannibal in one of two places; prison or the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. Hannibal in prison sounded like a recipe for disaster. He could already see Hannibal slaughtering a roommate the moment they were rude to him. But the possibility of putting Hannibal in a prison meant he would always have access to blood. Hannibal in the hospital, however, while it was a bit of poetic justice was also a higher risk of Hannibal starving. And escaping. 

The moment their eyes met, he knew exactly which way he would push, where he wanted Hannibal to be. His testimony was key to whichever way the jury would sway, having been one of two people to see Hannibal up close and personal. The other was Bedelia. But Bedelia wasn't set to testify at Hannibal's trial. Instead, she was in the hospital, recovering from her time with him. It was a complete lie and Will hated that Bedelia so easily passed it. The right cocktail of drugs and suddenly Bedelia was unfit to testify. But Will didn't have that excuse. He couldn't weasel his way out of testifying at Hannibal's trial, but he was in complete control of what he would say. The bond between the two of them was sealed off but Hannibal was still firmly in his head. When he met his amber eyes, he decided to support the defense's insanity plea. 

"Not for the same reason you are, I imagine." Freddie's eyes scanned him from head to toe. "How was it seeing Hannibal Lecter again?"

"I'm not doing this with you, Freddie." Will tried to push past her, but Freddie blocked his path once again. 

Freddie Lounds had always irritated him. They had come across each other on several of his cases as Freddie often weaseled her way into crime scenes and posted exposés on her website, Tattlecrime.com. After the massacre at Muskrat Farm, Will had found himself reading the blog and everything he had missed in the eight months he had been focused on Hannibal. Hannibal occupied his only thought, he didn't focus on anything else with one exception. Bella's funeral. He had never met Mrs. Crawford, but he had heard a lot about her and knew she was a good person. He went to the funeral to support Jack, the only time he sought Jack out during that time. While Will was in Europe, Freddie had written an article calling him and Hannibal "Murder Husbands." A small part of him wondered what Hannibal would say to that name. He shut that part down quickly.

"You reaffirmed the defense's insanity plea," Freddie continued, unabated. "Was that because you truly think he's insane or because it would be easier for him to escape from the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane?" She cocked her head. "After all the Ripper was able to wheel Abel Gideon right out from under their noses. What ever happened to Abel Gideon?"

"I don't know, Freddie."

"Don't you?" She stepped closer, her eyes alight. "You were the closest person to him. Surely you know more than you're letting on."

Will opened his mouth, likely about to say something he would regret, but another voice cut him off.

"Will!"

Beverly appeared at his side, wrapping her arm through his. "Come with me to get some coffee. The recess is only an hour then we have to get back." Her eyes flitted to the other. "Goodbye, Freddie!" She called, dragging Will away.

"Thank you," Will said when they were far enough. 

"You looked like you were about to do something stupid," Beverly said, brutally honest as always. "I was just saving you from yourself."

Will laughed hollowly. Saving him from himself was a difficult task.

They walked across the street to a nearby mom and pop coffee shop. They ordered and sat, their respective drinks steaming between them. Chilton was set to testify next. The first thing Chilton had done when Hannibal was arrested was copywrite "Hannibal the cannibal." Frederick Chilton was always trying to climb his way into the limelight, and Hannibal was his ticket to success. Chilton already looked incredibly smug in the courtroom and that was only as a spectator. Will knew he would be worse on the stand. He wasn't looking forward to returning to that courtroom. He wasn't looking forward to seeing those 12 faces who would determine Hannibal's fate. He wasn't looking forward to Freddie and her notes. He wasn't looking forward to seeing Hannibal and knowing his attention was always focused on Will. He wasn't looking forward to the looks Jack shot his way. But strangely, Beverly was comfort enough to keep his worries at bay. She was always steady in the middle of chaos. Jack had once told him he was bedrock, but honestly, Beverly fit the description better. 

She sipped her coffee, her eyes focused on Will's face.

"You all right?"

Will sighed. What was all right? The man he loved had gutted him and ran off to Florence with someone else and when Will followed, he tried removing his brain from his skull only to rescue him when his face was nearly removed by Mason Verger. He was so impossibly confused and hurt that he was twisted within himself.

Beverly smiled knowingly. "It will all be over soon."

"And then what?" Will asked, more to his coffee than to her.

"And then we move on." She bent, catching his eyes. "You move on."

"What if I can't?"

"You can." Beverly sounded certain. "And when you stumble, I'll be here to catch you. Just like you'll be there to catch me."

Will couldn't help his smile.

Months after Hannibal's trial, it was Beverly who he invited to his wedding. He had invited Jack as well, mostly to be kind, but it was Beverly who he actually wanted to be there. It was a small ceremony, no more than ten people were there in total. Freddie tried to sneak her way in and Will was certain Beverly was going to murder her. He could see her face out of the corner of his eye as she practically dragged Freddie from the ceremony. He would learn later, at the small reception they had, that Beverly had smashed Freddie's camera to pieces after she was dragged outside. He offered Beverly a dance. 

Will had met Molly in a rather clumsy exchange as he went to find parts for his newest project. Molly was incredibly easy-going and adaptive. The two of them fit well together. In another lifetime, he might have even fallen in love with her. Molly had a son, Walter. The two of them got along well and Walter was completely taken with Will's dogs. Winston still followed Will everywhere he went as though he knew Will would vanish again one day and he wanted to make the best of the time he had. The three of them, along with Will's pack, moved into a larger house to accommodate them all. It was really more of a glorified cabin, but it was near a river where Will could go fishing. The land itself was large enough for the dogs to run as they wanted and he built a shed for him to continue to work on his various projects including the boats. 

Molly worked as a nurse at the nearby hospital. Will was often left alone, Wally at school and Molly at work. He would repair boats, a surprisingly lucrative task where he lived. There was a lake only a few hours from the small town he lived near that the wealthy from Virginia and Maryland would visit. He repaired boats of all varieties; everything from fishing boats to yachts. People would leave dogs at the edge of his property and while Molly could find homes for some, his pack only grew in size. 

Chilton contacted him for help on his book and for whatever reason, Will agreed. Frederick finally found his fame. His book, _Hannibal the Cannibal_ became a bestseller. Chilton had testified after Will at Hannibal's trial, feeding into the insanity plea as he had done. It surprised Will how many people embraced the insanity plea on Hannibal's behalf. Chilton, Alana, him. Jack didn't, but ultimately it didn't matter. Hannibal Lecter was declared insane and was remanded to the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. Alana soon took over leadership of the hospital, after marrying Margot Verger. That was the last he knew of Alana. Chilton sent him a copy of his book once it was published. Will debated throwing it out, but he couldn't force himself to do it. The cover was a picture of Hannibal's face with the same dramatic torn images that real crime documentaries used. But it was as if Hannibal himself was staring at Will every time he looked at it. He eventually put the book on a shelf and resolved to forget about it. 

He didn't.

Will rarely had any contact with the life he used to live. The only person he regularly stayed in contact with was Beverly. Beverly came to visit him or sometimes he would meet her for coffee. She avoided any subject regarding cases, which Will was grateful for. Instead, she would inform him about the newest thing Price and Zeller had done or whatever Jack yelled about most recently. They would talk about Molly and Walter, the newest dog he had and if she wanted one, and whatever else caught their attention. Beverly had also been contacted by Chilton for his book, something they both found themselves complaining to each other about. One Christmas, she bought him a Newton's cradle, an inside joke between them. Will kept it on his desk, every now and then pulling one side back and watching it swing back and forth. One of the times he met Beverly for coffee, he noticed a _Time_ article about a painting. He ignored it. 

Beverly had been the first person to visit him in the hospital after Hannibal had sliced open his abdomen. For a wild second, he thought he saw Abigail Hobbs walking in the room. But Abigail was dead. She died in her father's kitchen during the first case Will and Hannibal worked together. It was Beverly with a bundle of flowers and a comment about how he would always have a smile now. She was his most frequent visitor, even batting Freddie Lounds away when she came to his hospital room while he was sleeping. The next day there was an article about his temporary colostomy bag. Beverly mentioned how big the black box was that Freddie had so kindly used to cover him.

Nighttime was still the worst for him. He would wake up in cold sweats, his dreams making him shake. Molly never complained. He would help her change the sheets after his worst nights and she would bring him a cold rag to press to his forehead to cool him off. He taught both Molly and Walter how to fish and would explain what he was doing to Walter as he worked on various boats. Some days, Molly would come home so tired from work that she would fall asleep the moment her head touched the pillow. Will, however, no matter how exhausting his day was would find himself staring at the ceiling in the dark. His nights were haunted by Hannibal Lecter. He would see him in the ceiling, see him in his dreams, see him in the blood that was spilled when he gutted and cleaned a fish. 

He never touched the bond between him and Hannibal. He thought maybe if he left it alone, it might fade but he warred with himself if he even wanted it to. A couple of times he felt Hannibal probe at it, testing to see if Will had opened it back up between them, but the door was always tightly closed. He had rebuilt his walls, locking the darkest parts away from the rest of the world. He wore his glasses almost every day, the only exception was being around Beverly. He never talked to Jack, he never paid too much attention to the news when they talked about murders. He never read Tattlecrime. He never put himself in a position to come across Freddie Lounds again. He built his boats and his walls, fortifying himself against the world. 

The first year had been the hardest but by the end of it, he had found Molly. The second year was easier. By the third, he thought his past was firmly behind him. That was until the Tooth Fairy. 

The first set of murders caught his attention, but he pushed it away quickly. He didn't need to barrel down that rabbit hole once again, even if it was a whole family. If Molly had heard about it, she kept it to herself. They never talked about his past or anything that would lead him to dredge it up once again. The second set of murders worried him. He knew it would bring his past to his doorstep. He didn't want it to come. He had locked it away, where it should be. He locked away his memories, his emotions, everything that could lead him back again. It didn't stop his mind from bringing Hannibal to his attention. He could vividly see the perfectly tamed hair on his head, his amber eyes, his suits, the way he walked, the strength of his jaw and the jut of his cheekbones, the feel of his body. His ghost stayed with him no matter what he did; that was only part of his past he couldn't rid himself of. 

After the second set of murders, a letter arrived in the mail. The outside was a plain manila envelope, but he could feel the smaller one within it. On the outside were only his name and the words "c/o the FBI." He knew immediately who the letter was from. He was tempted, as he first held the letter in his hands, to throw it in the fireplace. But he couldn't force himself to do it. Instead, he shoved it into one of his drawers. The letter haunted him. It was like he was dehydrated and the letter was his only source of liquid, but the liquid was poison. Every time he opened the drawer, the letter would call to him, beckoning him to open it and the doors that came with it. He would shut the drawer faster than he meant to.

Two days after the letter arrived in the mail, he was outside with his dogs. Molly and Walter had gone fishing while he stayed and did menial tasks around the house. He was fixing the latch on his shed when he heard the distinct sound of wheels rolling over frozen ground. The dogs barked happily at the prospect of a visitor. The car's engine shut off and Will looked over his shoulder, his hands still idly fiddling with the lock. He knew who was in the car, could picture their face before the door even opened and they stepped into the cold, winter air.

Jack.

The night of Jack's visit, after Jack left and Molly fell asleep, Will stood from the bed and moved toward the dresser, finally reaching for the letter within. He crept through the house, careful to avoid waking the house's sleeping residents. He moved downstairs and lit a fire in the living room. With a sigh, he steeled himself as he reached next to him, picking up the envelope. Within the envelope was a smaller, white envelope with Hannibal's impeccable writing on the front. His heart started to speed in his chest. He opened it slowly, feeling the paper as he did. It was the same kind Hannibal had used to draw. It was thicker than most paper, with small ridges that could be felt if one knew what to look for. He knew what to look for. He pulled it from the envelope, every movement stalled as if he moved slow enough, he could avoid the task altogether. Another paper fell to the ground and Will looked at it briefly. He knew what it was, and it wasn't that which caught his attention. He could see Hannibal's eloquent writing before he unfolded the note. 

His heart caught in his throat as he read the words, "Dear Will." His internal voice changed to that of Hannibal Lecter as if the man himself was reading the words in front of him. His heart clenched as his eyes ran over Hannibal's signature. Buried emotions threatened to overtake him as he read it once more before taking it, the white envelope, and the newspaper clipping and tossing them into the fire. He watched them burn, and within himself, he was burning too.

It took him a day to drive to the Jacobis' house in Chicago. He arrived at night, entering the sealed house with ease. He had told Jack he would probably be useless to him, that he didn't slip into the mindset he had once lived in anymore. It was more or less true. He could still easily slip into the minds of others, figure out what they wanted and what they thought. It was more habit than anything else, something he could never truly shut off. It was all too easy for him to recreate the events of the Jacobis' murders, slipping in the mind of the killer as if he had never stopped doing it. He could see the bodies in front of them as if he placed them himself. He could see their blood spattered on the wall, the mirrors and the mirror shards. He could see himself killing them, shooting them, and rearranging their bodies how he wanted them. 

The next day he went to Buffalo and again, he was easily able to reenact the murders in his mind as if he were the one who did them. He saw it with such clarity that he wondered if he had ever truly stopped living in the minds of killers.

By the third day, he was back in Jack's office. His office was exactly as Will had remembered it and his mind supplied all the other times he had stepped into it, and who had been at his side a few of the times he did. Jack and his office had barely changed in three years. Jack's hair was a little greyer, but his voice was the same, his demeanor was the same. He knew Jack wanted more than what Will was willing to give, but there was something he had to do first. There was somewhere he had to go, a person he had to see once more. His past was rapidly catching up to him once again and there was one person firmly within it. Will had always done his best when he had Hannibal at his side. His mind worked better, he could see into the psyche of others better when Hannibal was firmly situated in his own. It wasn't that he couldn't do the job himself, in fact, he had already proven to himself that he could. But he was his best with Hannibal. He was also his darkest. 

He saw Beverly after he left Jack's office. Her eyes were filled with emotions and Will knew she regretted his involvement in the case. Both Price and Zeller were happy to see him, both welcoming him back as though it had only been a few months and not three years. He and Beverly went to lunch together, neither talking about the case. 

On the fourth day, he drove to Baltimore. His body moved on autopilot as he first drove to the house that had once belonged to Hannibal. It was dark inside and empty. He had ventured to Hannibal's house while he was healing, those eight months he and Hannibal had been apart. He felt closest to Hannibal in his kitchen and he often found himself there, sitting in the emptiness alone. He had come to Hannibal's house that terrible night, hoping that he would feel closer to the other when he was taken into custody. He could still hear the echo of his pain and the feel the heartbreak as he had sat in the kitchen. It wasn't any better sitting outside it three years later. Next, he drove by Hannibal's office. Both buildings were vacant which surprised Will to an extent. Maybe it was because Hannibal still technically owned the buildings or maybe it was because no one wanted to take over the buildings that had once belonged to the Chesapeake Ripper. He assumed with the American fascination in serial killers, someone would have scooped up the buildings the first chance they had.

Finally, he drove the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane.

He sat in his car for a moment, looking at the building's facade. He ran a hand through his hair, steadying himself for what he was about to do. He caught his reflection in the mirror and forced himself to conceal himself behind a mask. He was here for one reason. There was a murderer out and about, and he had to stop him. The walk to the doors took an eternity. The building was exactly as he remembered it and Will couldn't help but think it looked a bit like a castle. The small, blue dome at the top shown against the off-white exterior. The sign outside taunted him, reminding him of the time he spent inside, but not as a consultant, as a resident. He took a deep breath and stepped through the doors. 

He didn't hear the orderly as they spoke next to him, he later couldn't even recall if it was a man or a woman. All he heard was his heart thundering in his ears and the excitement that began to rush through his veins. He mentally chided himself but it didn't work. Hannibal to him was always "the one who got away." He had so many unresolved emotions when it came to the other, but the worst of them was love. He had tried to bury it deep within himself, convince himself he wasn't actually in love with Hannibal Lecter. That it was all a part of his manipulation of Hannibal and Hannibal's manipulation of him. That it was a twisted parody of love and not the real emotion itself. It was the result of their dance around each other before they came crashing together and then were ripped apart. Will had tried to free himself from Hannibal, but suddenly he found himself wondering if he was free at all. 

They stopped in front of a pair of intricate, wooden double doors. Will's breath caught in his throat. Hannibal was on the other side. 

The doors began to open slowly. The orderly next to him left. The world around him began to vanish. He swallowed thickly, stepping into the room.

Hannibal stood on the other side of thick glass. The glass had holes cut in it for communication between the two sides. There was a metal container wedged into the glass so objects could be passed between the two halves of the room. A small bed sat against one wall. The room was irritatingly white and amplified by the fluorescent lights, reminding Will that he was, in fact, in a hospital. A wooden floor spanned the length of the room. Gold filigree was inlaid in the walls, making it look more like an office rather than a cell. On the far end of the room was a bricked-up fireplace and shelves that extended to the ceiling. Books laid across the shelves, neatly stacked. In the center of Hannibal's half was a desk covered in papers and in front of the desk was Hannibal himself.

His back was turned to Will as he entered. Right away, Will could tell there was something not quite right with the other. His skin was paler and his hair looked less vibrant. Will couldn't help but wonder if Hannibal was feeding enough. It looked like he had just enough to live, but not enough to bring him to full strength. Hannibal stood straighter as Will entered, setting down the papers he was holding. 

He turned slowly and suddenly Will was captivated. Those amber eyes caught him in their grasp and refused to let go. Hannibal looked almost the same as he had three years ago.

"Hello, Dr. Lecter."

"Hello, Will." His heart broke.

The door he had kept tightly shut for so long unlocked and creaked open just slightly.


	11. The Great Red Dragon

Hannibal almost thought it adorable that Will was trying to keep things professional between them. As if they had ever had a professional relationship. Both of them dove in headfirst, though Will was slightly more hesitant. But Hannibal had been caught the very first moment he laid eyes on Will's picture. Will was the center of his whole world and Hannibal revolved around him. He could feel the connection between the two of them open, just slightly, when Will entered the room. It was enough of a giveaway. As much as Will tried to move on, as much as he tried to keep himself separate from Hannibal Lecter, he couldn't. Will had held his resolve for three years, through a trial and time spent apart. For three years, after Hannibal had left Will's house, he had waited. Will kept the connection shut and while Hannibal probed, there was nothing to find on the other side. He was surprised that Will had sided with the defense and his insanity plea. His lawyer was ecstatic. Will's testimony was likely the deciding factor that put him under the care of Alana Bloom. 

Alana visited him often, even once admitting to lying for him. Chilton did the same. He let Chilton interview him, calmly answering the questions Chilton had. He would let Frederick become famous, and then slap him down the moment he had the chance. Psychiatrists and Ph.D. candidates came to interview him. He had dinner with Alana and Chilton. He remembered seeing Alana's swollen belly and the mischievous way she told it was a boy. Margaret Verger would have a brother and the Verger family would have an heir. Bedelia never visited him, but he reminded her he was there, biding his time, waiting. Chiyoh had managed to visit him twice, sneaking her way. He was more than happy to see her and she seemed satisfied that he was being treated well. She had offered to help him escape, to break him out, but Hannibal declined the offer. He wouldn't be in the hospital forever, but it wasn't Chiyoh who would eventually free him. It was Will.

He was able to feed, convincing the night staff to give him a little blood here and there. He wasn't at his full strength, but it was enough to keep him from desiccating. 

When the bond between Will and him creaked back open, he couldn't help but feel smug. He was right, as he often was. Just as he was twisted around Will, Will was twisted around him. They were joined, bound together, and even a three-year separation couldn't break it. He felt a sudden spike of worry at Hannibal's state but he refrained from addressing it. Will tried to keep himself distanced, even pretending as if he would leave the room at Hannibal's banter, but it was all too easy to keep him there. He moved in step with the other, feeling like a hungry panther in a cage, stalking a bloody steak. The smell of Will's blood made his mouth water. The last time he had smelled it was at his trial. And then he was cut off from it for what felt like an eternity. Many people came to visit him, each with their own distinct smells. Even Jack, once or twice, with the boldness of his blood. Alana always smelled like cinnamon. Margot, the one time she visited, smelled like cranberries. Chilton smelled like a sunflower, following the sun, or in his case fame, but never quite grasping it. But Will. Will made him want to sink to his knees and beg. 

He had never fully realized how deeply the other had entranced him until they were apart. He found himself willing to do whatever it took to keep Will there. Whatever Will asked, he would do. He had waited for three years for Will to come back to him. He would do anything to make him stay. He would die if Will asked him to. He felt himself smiling as Will left the room. He would be back in an hour and again after that. Again and again. 

He went to his desk and opened the file Will had given him. He could feel the heat on the pages where Will had grasped them. 

He rolled his shoulders and began focusing on the file in front of him. Will wouldn't come back if he thought Hannibal useless. He read the reports, saw the pictures. It appeared in front of his eyes, as he thought it must have for Will. The blood, the bodies. The murders were quick, a gunshot to the head. It was what was done with the bodies afterward that was so interesting. Every mirror was smashed and beyond what would be needed for the shards he placed on the body. The killer wanted to see himself in the eyes of his victims, see what was inside reflected back at him, see what he felt inside become reality. The smashing of the mirrors likely meant he was disfigured, or at least thought himself disfigured. He wouldn't be found in the system, he wouldn't take on a job that required him to show his face. His job was likely manual labor or a menial job where people would avoid his face. He was strong, having hauled dead weight easily. There was no struggle, he likely had killed this way before and perfected it along the way. He looked over the bodies of Mrs. Jacobi and Mrs. Leeds, noting the bite marks present. 

Their bodies weren't drained of blood, and the bite marks were awkward and crooked. It wasn't another like him who killed them. There was too much blood left, and the bite marks were wrong. He had seen enough of the victims of hunts to know what the bite marks of those like him looked like. No. This was a human. He thought about Randall Tier and how he had presented early in his life. His habits of biting were part of what propelled him to be Hannibal's patient. Perhaps this killer had a similar pathology. Much like Tier, it was unlikely he used his own teeth to bite, they were likely prosthetics. He killed around the full moon, suggesting a relationship with it, though what exactly that relationship was, he couldn't say. 

Many cultures had myths about the moon and creatures with relationships to the moon. Lycanthropy was the most common. Some stories had rabbits dwelling on the moon, some cultures thought fertility revolved around the moon, and indeed there were connections; some thought the moon made a person go insane. Even some stories about those like him revolved around the moon. But werewolves and rabbits on the moon weren't real. This killer was. 

The hour passed quickly before Will joined him once again. Almost everything he had thought of, Will had thought of too. Except he kept the part about the similarities to Randall Tier to himself. Tier was, after all, a victim of Will's. He could see them standing in his office as they had all those years ago, discussing the facts of the case. He studied Will when he looked away.

He had not changed one bit. His hair was exactly as Hannibal remembered it, the curls, the way it sat on his forehead. His eyes were even more beautiful after not having seen them for three years. They were a deep blue, the color the sea as the sun began to set. In the right light, his eyes looked nearly black. He kept his facial hair the same way he had years ago. He wore the same clothes; straight black pants and a tucked-in shirt. He wore the same jacket, draping it over a chair and Hannibal could see it clearly. The dark blue of his shirt matched his eyes. He could see the scar on his forehead. There were faded, white scars on his hands that Hannibal could just barely make out in the light. Will guarded his right shoulder and Hannibal didn't know whether or not it was conscious. Chiyoh had shot him in the right arm and years before he was stabbed as a cop in the same shoulder. Will still wore his glasses, but he had taken them off when he entered the room with Hannibal. He had heard the soft click of the plastic. Hannibal couldn't help but study his lips too. More than any other memory in his life, he remembered the night the bond between him and Will was forged. He remembered the taste of his blood, the feel of his lips, the sounds that came from his throat. 

Will wasn't wearing a mask with him, there was no need. 

After Will left, he found himself facing another, unexpected visitor. 

"Hello, Ms. Katz."

"Hello, Dr. Lecter."

Hannibal studied her, her closed-off posture, the way her eyes bored into his. She had a set to her jaw which he knew to mean she was there for a reason. He could guess what that reason was.

"What can I do for you, Ms. Katz?"

"I came to tell you to keep your distance from Will."

Hannibal felt his lips twitch. "Will came to see me."

"I know," Beverly answered, not moving an inch. "But when he leaves he can't be taking you with him." Her hard eyes pinned him in place. "You don't need to play your games with him anymore. Once he's done, he's done."

"I did not play games with Will. Everything that he thought and did was his own to think and do. I only," He paused, finding the right word. "Encouraged him. To find himself." He feigned innocence. "How is that so wrong?"

"You twisted him, played your games. Wound him up like he was a toy and let him go to see what he would do."

 _That might be true._ Hannibal conceded to himself. He did want to see what Will would do. He loved seeing what others did when he placed them in intense situations. Some people reacted well, others reacted very terribly. Will was always unpredictable and that was more entertaining to him than winding up a million toys and watching the dominoes that fell as a result. 

"Will is not a toy to me, Ms. Katz."

"Yes, he is." She sounded incredibly certain. "We're all toys to you."

"You might be," Hannibal admitted. "But Will is not."

"Then what is to you?"

He was catapulted to a lifetime ago when Chiyoh stood in front of him and asked him the same question. His answer was the same then as it was now. What was Will to him? He didn't know. He only knew he had never been as captivated by anything or anyone in his long life as he had with Will Graham.

After Beverly left, Alana took her place. Both seemed to notice a change in his demeanor at Will's appearance. And it was true. He felt alive again now that Will had returned. He felt as if he had been floating untethered for so long, moving through the days but not really in them. And now Will had brought back his reality. 

The day after Will visited him the first time was when he heard from the Great Red Dragon. And a plan began to form. 

The man on the other end of the phone was very careful to avoid identifiers, only calling himself the Dragon. He could hear the timbre of his voice change as he spoke as if he were being taken over by something within and it was using his mouth to speak. Hannibal easily pinpointed where his pathology had come from. William Blake had done a series of four paintings in his time, each revolving around the same subject; the Great Red Dragon. The first of his paintings, _The Great Red Dragon and the Woman Clothed in Sun_ had caught Hannibal's attention at a display. Blake was not a well-renowned artist for his time, and actually gained more fame after his death, but his paints were so vibrant and charged with energy that Hannibal couldn't help but pay attention to them. Especially his paintings which referred to Dante. His painting _The Lover's Whirlwind_ was inspired by Dante's works. Hannibal had a copy of it in his house until he was arrested that is. The second painting in the series, _The Great Red Dragon and the Woman Clothed with Sun_ was similar to the first but showed a different perspective. The third painting was called _The Great Red Dragon and the Beast from the Sea._ His final painting in the series was _The Number of the Beast is 666._ Like all of Blake's paintings, the Red Dragon paintings heavily utilized black and white to bring out the contrast with the other colors in the painting. The yellow of the woman clothed in sun stood out so vibrantly against the page, it made it seem as if she was actually clothed in sun. 

He suddenly found himself more entertained than he had in three years. Within the span of 24 hours, he had more visitors than normal, one of them being Will. Another killer was reaching out to him, circling Hannibal. It would be interesting who got to him first, Will or the Dragon. 

For the next few days, it was a crapshoot who would come to him. There were 28 days between full moons, and time was dwindling down. Will came to him more often than Hannibal had expected. He thought perhaps Will would try to keep himself distant at first, but he kept coming back. The Dragon also contacted him more than he expected. It was interesting to be where he was; seeing the differences in the predators circling him. Will was by far the wilder of the two, his energy always chaotic and untamed. The Dragon was more insightful than Hannibal expected. During one of their conversations, he kept his defensiveness of Will to himself when he said Will wasn't that handsome. It was a ridiculous subject to split hairs on, but in fact, Will was quite handsome. Will was always stepping outside of his own mind and into the mind of others whereas the Dragon seemed trapped within his own head, warring with something stronger than he. Will had a wife, the Dragon had his own woman clothed in sun. And he was at the center of it. Watching them spin and spin, narrowly missing each other. One of them would ultimately win, and he knew which he would prefer.

* * *

_He stood in a bedroom. The walls were cobalt colored. Pressed against one wall was a bed with a light brown wooden headboard. Behind him was a wooden dresser with a mirror resting over it. To his left was a window. The drapes were pulled back, revealing the night outside. The moonlight showed through the window, the only source of light in the otherwise dark room. The bed was covered in white sheets that were no longer white. In fact, they had been splattered, painted with blood. Crimson curtains were draped over the walls above the headboard, pulled the side like wings. The blood stood out against the sheets. A woman lay in the center of the bed, her head facing toward him, but he didn't recognize her. She wore a white sleeping gown, now stained with her blood. Her blonde hair was draped over the edge of the bed, stretching toward the floor. Shards of mirror covered her eyes and mouth. Next to him, he could hear someone breathing heavily._

_He turned, seeing the other occupant in the room. It was Will. He was naked and drenched from head to toe in blood as if he had bathed in it. The blood dripped down his body, leaving streams of crimson in its wake and made his vibrant blue eyes stand out against his skin. His curly hair was damp with blood. Will's chest heaved with every breath he took. His fists clenched and unclenched. He turned his head slowly, looking away from the body on the bed and toward him. His eyes seemed to focus as if he was suddenly seeing what was in front of him._

_"You don't have to pretend, Will. Not with me."_

_Will looked down at his hands and brought one to his lips, sucking the blood off his thumb. He turned, facing him completely and moved closer to him, wrapping his hand around the back of his neck and pressing their lips together._

_Hannibal could taste the blood on the other's tongue. Their kiss deepened and Hannibal pulled him closer. Will sucked in a breath, his hand fisting in Hannibal's hair. He moved from Will's lips to his skin, practically lapping the blood off of his flesh. Will let out a moan and tilted his head. Hannibal's tongue trailed up the side of his neck, holding his head steady with his hand. He felt his fangs begin to lower as he kissed the other's hot flesh and then sank his fangs into his skin. Will moaned aloud and brought another finger to his mouth, sucking the blood from it._

* * *

Hannibal's eyes fluttered open. In front of him, he could see his desk and the papers neatly stacked on it. The moon shone through the skylight, lighting his cell. He turned over on his bed, facing the ceiling, seeing what he could of the moon. He could feel a heart speeding, though it wasn't his own. It was as though he had placed his hand on someone else's chest and was feeling their pulse under his fingertips. He closed his eyes again for a moment, seeing Will behind his eyelids. The other was drenched in sweat, his chest heaving with the intensity of his dream. His hair was tousled from his sleep and he stared at himself, wide-eyed in the bathroom mirror of his hotel. He could see as Will visualized the mirror falling apart in front of him, leaving holes in who he saw himself to be. After a moment, the connection between them faded and Hannibal was once again in his cell. 

Will came to visit him the next day with a carving that had been found at the houses of the Dragon's victims. Will passed the pictures to him and after a second Hannibal reached to grab it, only to find something else with it. Will stared straight forward, his face a mask. But they both knew what else Will had passed with the pictures. It took a little sleight of hand to pull the vial into his sleeve where it wouldn't be found. The other only moved away once they began talking, leaning against the glass so he could look at Hannibal. 

He couldn't help but think how different Will's demeanor was from everyone else's. Everyone else stayed away from the glass keeping a distance between them as if he would lunge at it. Will, however, stayed close the whole time, walking right up to the glass and even leaning on it. He too was different depending on who was in the room. He stayed closer to the glass if it was Will on the other side, but if it wasn't he kept his distance. He could practically feel the heat of Will's body heating the glass.

Will left with an angle to follow. Hannibal had pointed him in the direction of the Great Red Dragon, or rather William Blake's painting. There were only so many times that the painting was available in the gallery it was housed in. It was likely Will and the Dragon would cross paths. 

Hannibal kept the vial hidden throughout the day as orderlies came and went with food. It was around ten, when he knew shift change happened, that he finally removed the vial from his sleeve. There wasn't much, but just enough to let him build a little more strength. He opened the vial and twisted it between his fingers before lifting it to his nose as he would with wine. He could smell the chaos within the blood, the scent distinctly Will. He finished the vial quickly and his heart started thundering in his chest, kicked into high gear by Will's blood. He felt his lips twitch as he looked at the now empty vial.

Will didn't have to sneak his blood in for Hannibal, but he did. He remembered the wave of worry when Will first saw him again. He still had a place in the other's mind, and his hold was only growing stronger once again. Round and round they went.

They would crash together again.


	12. Slayers

He was going to murder him.

Which him, he didn't quite know yet. But either Hannibal or the Dragon would die. And it would be at Will's hand. The Dragon was a human, he could tell as much even when the man grabbed him and threw him like a ragdoll. He wasn't exactly small but the Dragon tossed him like he weighed nothing. He would be the easier of the two to kill. But goddamned Hannibal Lecter. Hannibal knew and he sent him after the Dragon anyway. He knew Hannibal wanted to see what would happen, he wanted Will to kill the Dragon. He wanted Will to embrace that darkness he hid so carefully within himself again. What Hannibal didn't know, was Will knew how to kill him now. Hannibal had known that Will went to his home, known that he was with Chiyoh. But there was another who lived in Castle Lecter. Chiyoh had told him that he was the one who turned Hannibal. He was there when Chiyoh killed him. And he remembered every detail.

Will barely remembered to lock his car as he stormed up the steps to the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. He was practically shaking with anger. He was supposed to be done with this game. He was supposed to have moved on with his life, leaving Hannibal and all his manipulations behind him. But the moment they had the chance, both of them pulled each other back in. Hannibal with this little stunt and Will with the blood. What he was thinking when he gave it to Hannibal, he didn't know. All he knew is that every time he saw Hannibal looking so much weaker than he ever expected, another piece of his heart broke away. He could feel himself laying his heart at Hannibal's feet, and Hannibal was picking up the pieces one by one, but he wasn't putting them back. He was holding onto them, hoarding them. He knew he had never fully let go of Hannibal, but he hadn't expected to still be in love with him. Will tried to shove the thoughts back into their corner, locking them away, but they wouldn't go. His emotions mixed — anger, love, sadness — until he didn't know which emotion he was truly feeling at the moment. 

He took a breath as he neared those wooden double doors. 

Jack and Alana beat him to Hannibal's cell. He had called Jack about the incident with the Dragon after it happened and they had come to the same conclusion he had. Hannibal was talking to him. How? He didn't know. But they were communicating and they could use this. Hannibal's eyes moved to him the moment the doors swung open. Jack and Alana both turned to look at him, but they refocused on Hannibal. Hannibal only focused on him. It didn't matter if he was talking to Jack and Alana, his eyes were still on Will. He stood in the back, watching the conversation unfold in front of him. His anger dissipated as time went on. He took his chance to evaluate Hannibal, now that he wasn't the only one in the room. He was always calm, always in control. Even locked in a cell in a hospital run by Alana Bloom, even weaker, Hannibal was in control. The way he stood, the look in his eyes. He was in charge of the give and take, what he chose to give was all anyone else was allowed to take. No matter what privileges Alana extended, Hannibal was the one who dictated things. 

Will watched the back and forth of the conversation, watched Hannibal's eyes every second they moved away and every time they returned to Will once more. They wanted to use Hannibal, use his conversations with the Dragon to find him. Will had already resolved that one of them would die. But it began to dawn on him that he could deal with Hannibal and every emotion that came with him. The Dragon was a threat, an imminent danger. Hannibal, however, wasn't. At least not to him. The Dragon had seen him, he was likely marked. But Hannibal. He had time to deal with Hannibal.

In fact, he could have an eternity. 

A plan began to form in the back of his mind.

He felt himself stand straighter, drawing Hannibal's complete attention to him. The shift in Hannibal's attention caused Jack and Alana to turn toward him as well. All eyes were on him, but this was something he had to manipulate from the shadows. He arranged his face in a careful mask of discontent before shaking his head and leaving the room. His plan was ridiculous and it involved several moving parts. To ensure it even occurred would require manipulation to a level that only Hannibal could appreciate. The full moon was drawing closer, Jack likely was becoming more and more desperate. Catching the Dragon was his top priority. The more time passed, the more dramatic acts he would be willing to commit. Will stepped outside, looking at the sun hovering over the horizon. 

The first step in his plan would require the attention of someone Will didn't want. But he wouldn't have a choice. It was a game of chance, and he had been playing with chance since the first day he stepped into Hannibal's office. The Dragon would want to communicate with Hannibal again. He knew this, the FBI knew this. Especially after having eaten a painting. The New York art society was not too pleased with the events. But the painting in question seemed to be where the man drew his pathology from. If he consumed it, he would want to talk to Hannibal about it afterward and what effect the action did or didn't have.

If he were the Dragon, where would he go? If he wanted to be close to Hannibal, where would he go?

He already knew the answer. Hannibal's kitchen. But maybe he wasn't too far off. 

The last time he was in Hannibal's office had been the night Hannibal asked him to run away with him. They should have gone that night. Nothing would have happened if they had just left when Hannibal said. He could have fed his dogs, packed his bags, and left. Alana would have taken care of them, she had before. They could have been in Florence the next day, starting over again. But he just had to wait. That one extra day had cost him dearly. He remembered sitting in Hannibal's kitchen while he was healing, sitting on the floor next to the refrigerator. The cabinets above his head were cracked, some of the other cabinet doors were shattered completely. There was still a hint of blood in the air, but mostly bleach. But that wasn't the only thing that hovered in the air. His unspoken declaration hung, trapped within the depths of the kitchen. He could have torn the whole thing down with his bare hands and it would have still hung there, unable to go anywhere else. Part of him was still in that kitchen too, dead on the floor.

He knew he was in the right place when he saw the state of the office. For the most part, everything was draped in cloth, keeping the dust from settling on the furniture. The curtains were mostly closed, only letting in a little light. But the chairs, the ones he and Hannibal had so often occupied, were uncovered. As was Hannibal's desk. A simple home phone sat on the desk, in the center. Will's eyes ran over the rest of the office. He looked up, seeing the books still on the shelves. The fireplace was lifeless but still had ash in it from that last night. The ladder to the mezzanine was exactly where they left it. Will moved closer to the smaller desk near the fireplace. He could see another time when Hannibal sat in the chair, a fire crackling behind him, his pencil moving swiftly over his paper, drawing whatever work of art came to his mind at the moment. He pulled the cover off the desk and moved the chair away slightly, pulling open the small drawer that faced the fireplace. Papers left untouched were still within its depths. He assumed the FBI would have taken everything from the desk, from his office, but Hannibal had confessed, even writing his own confession. There wasn't much else that could be gleaned from his office. He pulled the papers from their resting place, dusting them off as he did. He saw the drawing of a canal and the houses that lined it, the Eiffel Tower, and eventually the one he was looking for. The rest of the papers slid from his grasp, landing unceremoniously on the desk.

 _Achilles lamenting the death of Patroclus._ He could hear Hannibal's voice clearly. _Achilles wished all Greeks would die, so he and Patroclus could conquer Troy alone._

He remembered watching Hannibal draw the picture, remembered the look in his eyes as he spoke. That had been the night he knew Hannibal loved him too.

He rolled the picture and found a rubber band after some searching. The Dragon wouldn't come tonight. But he would soon. He covered the desk and looked around once more. The Dragon would be back, and so would he. 

It took two days for the Dragon to finally show at the office. Will was exploring the mezzanine, not like anything was new to him. He explored the mezzanine the first time he entered Hannibal's office. Why Hannibal let him he had no idea. He doubted any other patient was allowed to just wander around. Will had done plenty more than any patient would have been allowed. He knew Hannibal was very particular about how he placed things, arranging them until they fit his preferences. Will could just walk up to Hannibal's things and start touching them and Hannibal never seemed to care. Maybe it was because he always put it back where he found it, or maybe it was because it was Will that was doing it. The Dragon entered through what would have been the patient exit. He looked exactly as Will remembered. He stepped further into the room, closing the door with a soft click. He moved to Hannibal's desk, setting a computer on top of it. Will snapped the book he was holding shut with a loud thump. The other looked up, his eyes wide.

"Hello again."

He wasn't expected and as a result, the Dragon had no weapons with him. It was lucky for Will. He had gone for the head in most instances. 

"Easy," Will said raising his hands placatingly. He put the book back on the shelf and moved toward the railing, leaning over it and folding his hands. "Remember me?"

"Yes." The man's eyes were watching him skeptically.

"Good." Will pushed off the railing. "Don't kill me when I come down. I want to talk."

The other didn't kill him. He watched him though, every move he made. Will stepped off the ladder, reassured, and moved closer to the desk, eventually pulling out the chair and sitting down. Hannibal had seemed more than content to let Will sit in his chair once, he doubted the man would mind now. He kept his hands where the other could see it at all times, hoping to remove a little of the hesitancy between them. He was also careful not to touch anything without a sleeve between him and whatever he touched, avoiding leaving fingerprints. 

Will pointed to the phone. "I know you're calling him." There was no need to clarify who the "him" was. They were in his office. "I'm guessing there's one thing you want more than to kill me."

The other's eyes glanced at the phone. "I want to meet Lecter." His eyes moved back to Will. "How would I accomplish that?"

Will's lips twitched. "I can help."

The other still looked skeptical before he grabbed one of the black leather chairs, heaving it with surprising ease and placing it on the other side of the desk. He sat, his eyes still focused on Will but he didn't speak. Will finally had a chance to evaluate him. He was clearly strong, with muscles easily seen under his leather jacket. He moved with grace, each movement carefully calculated. His hair was cropped close to his head. His blue eyes were focused, intense. There was a small cleft in his lip, but it only added to his look not detracted. Will knew he thought himself disfigured, but he couldn't help but think the other shouldn't be as worried about his look. He was still quite handsome.

Will sighed after a moment, the silence had settled between them for too long. "The FBI will be listening to your call."

"I thought you worked for the FBI."

"I am a consultant, yes," Will answered. The other stayed silent. "Tell him you want to meet him."

"And then?" 

"And then I convince the FBI to let you meet him. I'll tell them that the best way to capture you is to fake an escape." His eyes settled on the other completely. He watched as the other's eyes moved, connected the dots as if they were visible in front of him.

"When?"

Will shrugged. "The next full moon is in a week?" The other nodded and Will continued. "The FBI will be desperate. Desperate enough to risk him getting out." He turned his head slightly. "They may even get the idea that they could kill you and him. Two birds, one stone so to speak."

"What's in this for you?"

Will smiled, baring his teeth as he did. "Mustn't keep them waiting." He said, jutting his chin toward the phone. Before the other could call though, his eyes snapped upward, meeting the other's. "They can't know I'm here. This won't work if they know."

He nodded.

* * *

"There's a deal for you, Hannibal." Alana's voice echoed around the room. "Or there could be."

Hannibal stood with his hands folded behind his back, eyeing Alana. Fear danced behind her sky blue eyes, and her posture was rigid. Whatever the deal was, she was afraid of it. Or perhaps afraid of its potential outcome.

"A deal with who?"

"The FBI." There were only four days until the next full moon. They were desperate.

He wasn't the only one who knew that. 

Hannibal refrained from smirking. No. The deal wasn't with the FBI. The deal was with Will. Unfortunately, that deal was just as much a mystery to him as it was to the FBI. Will had been closed off to him for over five days since he encountered the Dragon. He remembered the anger in Will's eyes as he entered the room that day, but whatever anger-filled diatribe he was going to give Hannibal was cut off by the presence of Jack and Alana. They knew the Great Red Dragon had contacted him and they were going to use him when the other inevitably called again. Will's posture shifted against the back wall, and he could see the thoughts flying behind those brilliant eyes. Jack and Alana listened on the call that came two days later, Will wasn't there. The Dragon talked a great deal about his fight with the monster within, the man versus the dragon. He spoke of a woman, Reba, who the Dragon wanted and who the man could not give to him. The Dragon asked for his help, wanting to meet him to prevent the dragon from taking his woman clothed in sun. If Hannibal had been human, he could not possibly have heard the shuffling in the background. As it was, he wasn't human and his hearing was better than he let on. The Dragon wasn't alone as he made his call. He wondered if that had anything to do with the deal now on the table.

He had interrupted the call, telling the occupant, or occupants, on the other end of the phone that their conversation was being listened to. He would later learn, as Alana decided to remove his various privileges, that the call had come from Hannibal's former office. 

He knew what the deal with the FBI entailed. The Dragon wanted to meet him. He would be the bait. Ironic for a fisherman to suggest such a lure. Will had been a lure once, for him. And now they wanted Hannibal to lure what they saw as a bigger fish. But what did Will want? Alana talked, explaining the deal, but he could hardly bother listening. He would go along with it, he already knew this. But there was one thing he wanted first. He wanted Will. He wanted to look into his eyes when he asked, and see what was waiting for him on the other side. As she finished, his eyes found hers.

"Why doesn't Will ask me himself?" His question was rhetorical, more of a statement than a question. Alana would see it. 

After her fall, she was not the same person she was before. She was harder, more knowledgeable. Less trusting. She kept Hannibal at arm's length at all times and the only time she let anything show, was when she was near the end of her pregnancy. Her subtle way of telling him what had become of their deal at Muskrat Farm. She freed him, and the result was a mountain of wealth and two children. Morgan Verger was the heir to the Verger estate and all that came with it. Alana, being his mother, was the trustee until Morgan came of age. She and Margot raised their two children together. It would be adorable if he were anyone else. But Alana knew the risk of a deal with the FBI. Faking an escape could lead to him escaping in earnest and fulfilling a promise long ago made, meant to be kept. It was part of the reason she had taken over the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. Then she would always know where Hannibal was, controlling the keys to every door between them. He suspected if Will had his way, he would escape in earnest. 

Alana left, knowing that the key to Hannibal's cooperation was Will.

The orderlies were the first to visit him the next day. It had become routine for him over the last three years to be strapped into a straightjacket and then into an awkwardly angled chair which was meant to keep him from being able to lunge at someone. Sometimes they used the mask, meant to keep him from spitting, not that he was the type. In all reality, it was Alana's way of attempting to humiliate him further. Once he was strapped into the chair, they waited. 

Will entered a few minutes later.

The only way Hannibal could describe his demeanor was downright flirty. His hands were folded behind his back but his posture open, his entire body facing Hannibal and him alone. There were two orderlies in the room with them and they hardly mattered. The smell of his blood was even worse than normal, playful and chaotic and completely mouthwatering. There was a playful light in his eyes, making it impossible for him to look away. Each step he took was deliberate, shifting his weight back and forth between his feet, making each step look as though he was a child with a secret he could only tell him. Hannibal couldn't help but poke holes in the plan Will laid in front of him, knowing it wasn't his real plan. He also knew someone was listening, and a lack of restraint on his part would give away whatever ruse Will was playing. And he was playing it well. The connection between them was sealed, keeping Hannibal from knowing any bit of what Will ultimately wanted. He only knew that there was more than what he said, and he couldn't wait to see the rest. 

"I need you, Hannibal." Will leaned closer after a brief pause. "Please."

The look on his face when he pulled away made it impossible for him to deny him. He raised his eyebrow as he pulled away, his face expectant but his eyes knowing. 

Will stayed right next to Hannibal the whole time. He was loaded into the back of a van the mask having been placed over his mouth beforehand. He noted the three police cars around them, their escort. Will glanced over at one of them and then followed Hannibal into the van. He was locked into a cage. Will sat directly across from him, hunched over, his hands pressed together in front of him. He couldn't help but notice the lack of a wedding ring on Will's left hand. The drive began with little excitement, two of the cop cars going with them, one in front and one following. Will stayed perfectly still only moving as the van lurched. Half an hour into their ride was when everything changed.

A siren echoed as a third car caught up them. The connection between him and Will opened and Hannibal was suddenly caught up in Will's excitement. It would have only been more obvious that this is what he was waiting for if he winked. Will's eyes followed the car as it sped past the van, his face a mask of mild curiosity. The car sped until it was lined up with the car in front of the van. He couldn't see exactly what happened, but he saw an arm raise, and then the vehicle lost control. The van, the driver unable to stop the momentum, slammed into the car, sending the front two passengers forward and the rest of them sideways. The other car slowed and he could see the last two trailing officers as they were shot. The van stopped and within seconds the driver and passenger were shot with a silenced gun. 

The Dragon appeared at the back of the van, opening the doors and killing the guard next to Will. Will had stayed perfectly still for the duration, leaning against the glass that separated them from the driver. The cage Hannibal was in opened. He could do the rest, tearing through the straps of the straightjacket. The other man ran back to his commandeered car, driving away from the scene he left. 

Hannibal stepped into the sun, inhaling fresh air and feeling the heat on his face. He hadn't been outside in the three years and now he was free. Will climbed out of the van after him as Hannibal deposited the jacket and mask onto the seat. He stretched as he stood, rubbing his neck which had jerked with the collision. Hannibal walked over to one of the cars, pulling the driver from his seat as the tires rang out around them. Will waited as he pulled the car up next to him, pushing out the passenger and looking at Will expectantly. The other squinted in the late afternoon sun but gave no protest as he climbed into the car. 

It was a day's drive to the cliff house from where they were. Neither talked much along the way. Will used tissues from the glovebox to wipe the spattered blood and brain off the window before angling himself and lowering his seat to sleep. They stopped only for gas and food. Hannibal refrained from commenting on the quality of the food, knowing Will needed to eat and there weren't many options at the out of the way gas station. Will had gone inside while Hannibal filled the tank but he could see through the window a news report referring to his escape and Will's involvement. Will returned and they continued along their journey. There was no classical music available to accompany them, so the radio stayed off most of the time. They both seemed content to sit in silence. 

It was unlikely that the FBI had found this house. He had only brought one person here, a person who now resided with Chiyoh. Miriam Lass would appear soon for Jack to find, having been kept until Hannibal was released. The house hadn't changed much in the five years since he was last year, but the cliff had. There was a beauty to the destruction of nature. The bluff was eroding from the relentlessness of water and wind. Life on land evolved from the ocean. Eventually, it would claim them all again. 

There were three bedrooms upstairs in the house and a kitchen and sitting room downstairs. There were several windows in the house, most facing the Atlantic, watching the waves as they rolled by. He could hear Will moving downstairs, exploring, while he changed from the hospital jumpsuit. He was glad for his foresight of keeping clothes in multiple places. He would be stuck in that horrid jumpsuit if he didn't. He navigated his way down the stairs only to find Will at the bottom, resting against the metal railing.

"Hannibal," Was all he said.

He stepped down the last step as Will cocked his head, revealing his neck. He took greedily.

* * *

Will watched the waves and the way the moon looked overhead, reflecting in the water. He could understand why someone would feel a connection with it. There was something majestic about the moonlight that felt deeper than a connection with the sun. He heard Hannibal moving in the kitchen along with the clink of glasses. He refrained from smiling. Hannibal and his wine. His habits were what caught up to him the first time, Alana had told him as much. But even with a killer chasing them, hellbent on killing them both, Hannibal decided it was time for wine.

He saw the other approaching the reflection of the window. He looked better, healthier than he had even a day ago. His hair was thicker and shinier, his skin was less pale, and he walked with a purpose now, as if he were in complete control. Indeed, he always was. Will learned it the hard way. But he felt himself caring less and less about the control he surrendered to Hannibal, knowing Hannibal surrendered control to him in return.

Round and round they went.

And here they were. Hannibal was free, out and about once again with Will at his side.

He had thought about his plan during the two days he waited for the Dragon to show. He thought if it was what he wanted, if Hannibal was who he wanted. He had spent months twisting around Hannibal, only for the other to cut him loose in the worst way. Then they twisted together again and Will cut them loose once again. He hid for three years behind walls and a ready-made family burying the darkest parts of himself where no one could ever reach them. Except for Hannibal. It took only a few minutes for Hannibal to burrow his way back into Will's mind and he hadn't left since. It was a brutal but efficient way to force Will to face the emotions he had hid for three years. He had tried to tell Hannibal once that he loved him. He never thought he'd have a second chance.

There was little left to say between them but feelings buried in shallow graves. Neither of them had the luxury of focusing on those now. There was still one thing between them and whatever came after. One person.

"He's watching us, you know," Will said as Hannibal poured him a glass of wine.

"I know." Hannibal moved away from him, pouring his own wine and angling himself so he was facing Will.

Only later would he think that act deliberate. 

When the bullet tore through his side, Will could swear Hannibal was more concerned with his carpet than himself, watching the red wine fall to the grey fabric. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion from there. The glass behind Hannibal shattered as he fell to the side, near his piano. The Dragon appeared, his feet crunching the now shattered glass. Will could see his gun, likely the same one he had used countless times before, a silencer on the end. The gun was pointed at him with a warning and Will backed up, only slightly.

He let the connection between him and Hannibal open completely. There was no need to hide now. There was no point.

_You don't have to pretend, Will. Not with me._

No pretending, no hiding. 

Hannibal readjusted himself as Will bid his time, waiting for the right moment to strike. He watched Hannibal's every movement, the way he shifted, where his eyes looked. Everything Hannibal saw, he saw as well as if he were occupying two sets of eyes at the same time. He saw from two angles as the Dragon set up a camera on a small tripod, aimed at Hannibal's face. The other spoke, but Will could hardly bring himself to pay attention. He was waiting. Waiting. Through Hannibal's eyes, he saw the other remove a knife from his pocket and click it open. Hannibal's eyes met his as Will reached for the gun tucked under his shirt. He didn't react fast enough. 

He didn't feel the pain of his cheek being stabbed as much as he felt Hannibal's rage. He could hear him snarl before Will was unceremoniously tossed outside. He couldn't help but think of how much he hated that the man could throw him around so easily. It was annoying really. He finally felt pain when his back hit the ground with a loud thud. Glass crunched under him as he landed and his body rolled away on a reflex. His senses returned and were suddenly heightened. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, his heart sped in his chest. His breathing slowed, his vision cleared. He could see everything. The plants on the edge of the cliff, the indentation in the rocks next to him, the grain of the stone bench, the spot of blood on the Dragon's boots. He pulled the knife from his cheek which was worse than being stabbed in the first place. His hands shook with adrenaline as he turned the knife, stabbing it into the oncoming man's leg. He could feel the heat from the other's body, alerting him to where exactly he was. 

One of the other's hands wrapped around his throat, pulling his head back at an awkward angle. He cried out as the knife sunk into his chest. Above him, the moon and stars sat, indifferent to the actions below. The Dragon was suddenly pulled away and he fell forward onto his hands, wincing at the impact. He could see the man stalking toward Hannibal. He sucked in a breath, mentally readying himself for the pain he would feel. The serrated knife tore at his skin as he pulled it free. He forced the pain away. He forced everything away. There were only two things that mattered to him, and the Dragon was stalking the one. He propelled himself forward, unthinking as he stabbed his commandeered knife into the other's side, between his ribs. 

He could hear a yell of pain as he was batted away. The Dragon's attention was torn between him and Hannibal and Will knew the moment the tide had turned in their favor. He could see it before it even happened. Hannibal grabbed an ax, he had the knife. There were so many veins and arteries in the legs, he was certain the two of them tore them all open. 

He and Hannibal moved as one being. Their minds were twisted around each other to the point he didn't know which was which. He could see Hannibal in front of him, his amber eyes wide and hungry. His chest rising faster with his every breath. He could see himself through Hannibal's eyes. The blood covering his face and drenching his white shirt. The chaos that his curls had evolved into. The wild and angry, almost hungry, look in his eyes. Hannibal moved first, using his momentum to bend the Dragon's body back, freeing his abdomen. Will lunged.

Who ultimately dealt the killing blow? It didn't matter. The knife tore open the Dragon's stomach and Hannibal's teeth tore open his throat. Blood sprayed everywhere, coating them both. 

Will limped away and Hannibal gathered himself. The Dragon fell to his knees, his face toward the moon before his body twisted, falling onto his back. His arms were splayed out next to him as blood ran from his wounds forming the wings he never had. Hannibal moved around his body, their shared prey all but forgotten. He could feel the intensity of Hannibal's focus on him as the other helped him stand. Time still moved slowly, ever motion seeming to take forever to finish.

The adrenaline in his system was fading rapidly and he along with it. As quickly as it rushed through him, it rushed from him. Every breath he took began to burn and he felt as though he were suffocating. He felt himself begin to pant, trying to force more air into his system. He was shaking, his feet feeling cold. The sensation began to move up his legs. Hannibal grasped his sides, fisting his hands into his bloodied shirt. No matter how much he felt himself weakening, he could feel the strength from Hannibal. Steady and strong and...

"Beautiful."

He moved forward, leaning his head against Hannibal's shoulder. There was no going back, not now. He felt Hannibal adjust, leaning his cheek against the top of Will's head. 

It was a strange feeling, peace. That's what he felt now, wrapped in Hannibal's arms, his head pillowed on his shoulder. He wondered to himself why he had ever fought this. This was what he wanted. Hannibal was who he wanted.

He used the last of his strength to wrap his arm around Hannibal's neck. The movement burned into his core and what little air he had left ran out. His vision began to blacken as he used the what little of his strength he had left, the bit of adrenaline still coursing through his system, to push them both over the edge and into the ocean below.

* * *

_Stay with me._

_Stay with me._


	13. Reborn

It took five seconds for them to fall to the ocean.

In the first second, Hannibal thought about the things he should have told Will. He had told him that blood bonds were broken by death, but he didn't tell him what happened to the other half. He thought about Chiyoh and what happened after her bond was broken. Chiyoh nearly died. One second she appeared fine, and the next her body seized with pain. She cried out, dropping to her knees, blood running from her eyes. After that, she didn't move, didn't eat, didn't sleep. She sat by a window, watching the outside world pass by for a decade. It wasn't for lack of blood. Hannibal brought her both fresh blood and blood left from his kills, but it didn't matter. For ten years, she didn't feed. He watched her desiccate in front of him. Her skin grew thin and grey, her hair faded, her breathing grew shallow, her eyes became bloodshot and then nearly sank into her. Her limbs shriveled with lack of use and blood, Hannibal could see her bones. Every breath she took sounded as if it pained her, her heart slowed. Her veins must have felt like sandpaper; dry and rubbing together with nothing in them. Her cheeks sunk in, her ribs were more exposed. He worried that if he touched her she would crumble. It took ten years to finally coax her to feed, and she was never the same again.

In the next second, he wondered about the difference between blood bonds and mating bonds. Blood bonds were between a human and someone like him. Mating bonds occurred when both were like him. They were similar, functionally, as both occurred after sharing blood between the two halves and they allowed for a deeper relationship to form. Every blood bond he had heard of became a mating bond as the human was always turned. But beyond that, he didn't know where the differences lie. Maybe he could survive with a blood bond what he couldn't with a mating bond.

In the third second, he knew the fall wouldn't kill him. It would hurt, oh it would hurt. Especially considering he was already wounded. Even with Will's blood in his system, it would take him longer to heal after this fall. Will, however.

In the fourth second, he thought about Will. He thought about the way he was breathing after the fight with the Dragon. His panting, the heavy strangled sound that came from his throat. He heard quiet wheezing, as though the air was being slowly expelled from a balloon. He thought about the injuries the other had incurred, but mostly he thought about the stab to his chest. When he first saw it, he thought maybe Will was stabbed in the shoulder. His right shoulder had taken several beatings over the years, the scar tissue would keep the severity of the stab to a minimum. It must have been further inward than Hannibal realized. His lung was punctured. Will was dying. One way or another, he was going to meet his death. Except by falling from the cliff, he ensured it was on his own terms. And he took Hannibal with him. He must have known the fall wouldn't kill Hannibal. He must have. He must-

In the fifth second, he realized Will had Hannibal's blood in his system. 

_Will I become like you?_

_Only if you die in the next 24 hours._

Will was going to die. But he wouldn't stay dead. He had made sure of that.

Hannibal pulled him closer, tucking his face into Will's neck, as they neared the churning water beneath them.

The ocean swallowed them both.

* * *

It took a day for him to complete his transformation so he wasn't yet worried when he pulled a seemingly dead Will from the clutches of the Atlantic. Will wasn't breathing, his heart wasn't beating. But Hannibal didn't feel the indescribable pain that Chiyoh had felt. He didn't feel anything besides the burn of saltwater on his wounds. Will's eyes were closed, his hair plastered against his head with small salt deposits in his dark curls. He looked peaceful, calm. The blood on his face and shirt had faded with the water, leaving only pink where there was once white and then red.

 _Stay with me._ Hannibal thought as he shifted forward, cupping Will's face between his hands. _Stay with me._

He pulled himself up on one knee, scooping Will into his arms, and then stood. It took a moment to balance himself, his side still stinging with the pain of the bullet. He readjusted Will, who was dead weight in his grasp. His head rolled as Hannibal positioned him, his face pressed against his bicep. He took a breath and looked at the world around them. There was one place he knew he could go, but finding it would be difficult. The FBI would trace the police cruiser to the cliff house, neither of them could return. Especially not after they saw the footage on the camera. He had been so focused on Will, on helping him, that he hadn't noticed until later that he had knocked over the tripod after he threw his jacket off. The jacket was restricting, not good material to fight in. He had seen the overturned tripod only seconds before Will pulled them both over the edge. The camera had been facing them when they fell. The FBI would see them kill the Dragon and then it would look as though Will had killed them both, taking them over the cliff. 

Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter were dead. 

When Bedelia opened the door, her eyes dropped to Will's body in his arms. He heard her suck in a breath, emotions flying behind her eyes before she closed herself off. Her face hardened, her eyes along with it, as she looked back to Hannibal.

"Is he dead?" She tapped her fingers on the door. "Did you kill him?"

"No."

She let out a breath and stepped aside. "Come in. Both of you."

Hannibal felt his lips twitch. It was a shame she didn't know what she had just done. He had never fed from Bedelia, leaving that to his various kills while they were together in Florence. Bedelia thought she had seen behind the veil that he kept between himself and the rest of the world. But she hadn't. The only one who truly had was currently in his arms.

"There are two spare bedrooms." She said before her eyes scanned over Hannibal. "Though I doubt you'll need them both."

He followed her through the house, musing at how similar it was to her previous home. She kept the same color scheme, mostly dark blues, greens, and blacks. Her pictures were the same, her furniture was the same. It looked as if she had only picked up her life and moved it instead of starting anew. Which was quite true. Bedelia was incredibly smart. Smart enough to inject herself with the same cocktail he had used on other's before to induce memory loss and confusion. As a result, everything she had experienced in Italy didn't matter anymore as it was deemed she was not in control of her own actions. She was able to continue living as she had before, but had moved houses. Bedelia had grown quite famous after her travels with Hannibal. He had heard that she gave lectures at various universities, describing their time together. Hannibal reminded her that he was there, always lurking in the shadows. And now he was here again, she wouldn't be able to escape this time. She must have known that when she left and returned with clothes for both him and Will the next day.

Hannibal changed from his stiff, blood-soaked clothes, watching Will in the mirror the whole time. His body didn't move an inch, he didn't breath, his heart didn't beat. He cleaned himself up, stitching the wound in his side to help it heal faster. He then moved to Will. He cut away his blood-soaked shirt, peeling it away from his skin. He brought a cloth and bowl of warm, soapy water from the bathroom. He lifted Will gently, placing another towel under him as he began cleaning off the blood from his face, hair, and shoulder. The blood mixed with the water as Hannibal worked. Next, he grabbed Will and moved him into the bathroom. With the aid of a chair, he was able to clean Will's salty hair. He returned Will to the bed, removing his pants and setting the rest of his clothes with the pile to be burned. He could leave behind no evidence. He had found, though, in the back pocket of Will's pants, a folded up piece of paper. The paper was brittle due to the time in the water, but it had dried enough that it wouldn't tear when he unfolded it. He debated for a moment, wondering if it was something personal that he should leave alone. He decided to open it and realized it was personal. He recognized the picture, having drawn it himself. He felt a smile pull at his lips and emotions build in his throat. The picture was almost prophetic. He had drawn himself and Will into the painting and now here he was, holding vigil over Will's body. He pushed the emotions away, setting the drawing on the table next to the bed. From there he cleaned off the rest of Will and clothed in him the clothes Bedelia brought. 

The clothes would fit Will's preferences, though Hannibal had almost debated for a moment about having Bedelia find him a suit instead. But he decided against it, realizing that part of Will's charm was his preference in attire. 

After he finished, he pulled a chair next to the bed and sat at Will's side. 

A day passed and Will still didn't move. 

Hannibal grasped one of Will's hands between his own, pressing his lips to the other's fingers, willing him to return. Day turned to night and back to day once more. Hannibal had barely moved. He could hear Bedelia moving around the house, hear which room she was in and what she was doing. As the sun began to drop in the sky on the second day, he kissed Will's hand once again and laid it next to him. He stood, feeling his body ache from stiffness and left the room. 

Overpowering Bedelia was easy. He drained some blood from her wrist into one of the wine glasses she had available and placed it next to Will on the table. He would need to feed when he woke, and Bedelia was the closest source. It was likely he would be ravenous, but Bedelia wasn't going to die just yet. He wanted her alive for the moment, taking piece by piece. He was going to savor it, and he hoped Will would savor it with him. Dressing her was easy, she was lighter now with only three limbs. He prepared his dish, all the while listening to the other occupants in the house. Cooking helped focus him, helped clear the worry that was slowly building in the back of his mind. 

What if he was wrong? What if Will was truly gone? What would he do then?

He set Bedelia in a chair at her long dining room table. She had plates that fit his standards and he set the table, placing a metal plate in front of her, along with cutlery. He set a place for himself next and then for Will as well. Hannibal moved back and forth from the kitchen, bringing out food and then wine. As he went to pour wine for Bedelia, she lunged suddenly stabbing a two tined fruit fork into his leg. He sighed, removing the fork and setting it in front of him.

"That was rude, Bedelia."

She inhaled, the motion making her dress sparkle in the light of the candles he had set around them as the sun dipped below the horizon. But before she could respond, a sound rang through the house, loud and clear.

_Lub dub._

Hannibal moved faster than Bedelia could comprehend, vaguely hearing her begin her sentence thinking he was still there to listen. But he was gone. His wound was all but forgotten though it would heal quickly. He was at Will's side between the beats of his ventricles. 

_Lub dub._

Hannibal stood next to him as he finally inhaled. A finger on his hand twitched and his heartbeat grew steadier. His head turned, his eyes still shut. He moved closer to the bed, wanting to reach for him but deciding against it. Will's head turned toward him, his hair shifting against the fabric of the pillow. Will's scent began to fill the air. It was just as chaotic as before, but stronger, like everything else about him had become. He felt energized just being close to Will, as though he had fed from him, but by scent alone. Will inhaled again.

"Hannibal." He breathed.

"Will."

Will's eyes shot open at the sound of his voice, finding Hannibal's as he did. He looked at him, blinked, and then blinked again, his eyes narrowing slightly. 

"You have some green in your eyes." 

Hannibal felt himself exhale, a smile pulling at his lips. He helped Will sit up, sliding his legs over the edge of the bed. Will rubbed the back of his neck and then moved to his cheek. The wound had healed, and only a long, thin scar remained. He looked down at himself, evaluating his body. He clenched and unclenched his hands, flexed the muscles in his arms, rolled shoulders, rolled his neck, and eventually pulled at his shirt to examine his chest. That wound was mostly healed too, only a small cut left where the stab wound had once been. 

"How long?" Will asked, his eyes finally returning to Hannibal's.

"Two days." He grabbed the glass from the bedside table and offered it to him. "Drink."

Will hesitated for a second, grabbing the glass and then lifting it to his nose. Inhaling. He pulled it away once again and looked at it before raising it to his lips. The first taste was tantalizing, Hannibal knew. The other finished the rest within a second, downing it quickly. He pulled the glass away when it was empty, looking at it as if it might refill.

"I'm still-" He cut himself off. But Hannibal knew what he would say.

"We'll go hunting soon." He reassured, taking the glass from Will's hand and setting it down once again.

There was only a candle that provided light in the room. The shadows danced across Will's face, making his features sharper. His fingers brushed over Will's and the other's breath hitched in his throat. Will grasped his hand, his eyes following the length of his arm to his shoulder, his throat, and then his face. He stood, his eyes still completely fixated on Hannibal. He was focused to an intensity that made Hannibal shudder. He felt like he was being stalked by a dangerous predator, who just finally learned the strength within himself.

"It can be disorienting, at first," Hannibal said. Will didn't answer. Instead, he moved closer, studying him.

Will ran his fingers slowly up Hannibal's arm, feeling the fabric, feeling the muscles under it, feeling the movement of his blood beneath his fingertips. His hand kept traveling until it reached Hannibal's face. He stayed still, letting Will explore as he wanted. The other moved closer, his other hand following a similar trail before he dropped his fingers to Hannibal's abdomen, a question in his eyes. 

"Like your wound." Hannibal's eyes flitted to his chest for a moment. 

Will nodded, still focused on Hannibal's face.

"Everything will be stronger now. Sensations, emotions, you. What you hear, see, smell, and feel will be more intense than what you experienced previously."

Will moved a little closer the more he spoke until they were close enough for their torsos to almost be touching, but not quite. 

"Yes," Will breathed. "I can see that."

A noise downstairs dragged them both from the moment. Will's eyes shot toward the door, his body stiffening. 

"Come," Hannibal said, moving toward the door. The moment between him and Will was broken, but it didn't mean it was gone for good. He could feel Will following him.

They moved into the dining room where Hannibal had left Bedelia. She had tried, and failed, to escape from her chair, still not used to having one less leg. She looked up the moment they entered the room, her eyes focusing on Will behind him. Two days he had waited to Will to wake, two days Bedelia likely thought a dead body was occupying one of her bedrooms. Seeing Will made her eyes widen and Hannibal heard her heart begin to speed in her chest. Her scent changed as one emotion began to run through her. Fear.

He knew the moment Will spotted Bedelia as the connection between them suddenly snapped back into place. He was right about Will's emotions being more intense, because the jealousy, anger, and then smug satisfaction that Will experienced were stronger than any emotion he had shared with him before. Will stepped up behind him, just behind his shoulder, and looked over the rest of the room. He no doubt noticed every little thing now, the way the candlelight hit the metal, the grain of the table, but also the meal that Hannibal had prepared. The next emotion from Will was pure hunger. It made his fangs ache. Will had likely connected the fact that the blood which had completed his change was Bedelia's. But he stayed where he was at Hannibal's shoulder. He knew what Hannibal wanted, what he was doing, and didn't make any move to change his plans.

He felt the moment Will's eyes landed on him, and a different kind of hunger burned through him.

_Beautiful._

Hannibal glanced over at him. It was the last word he had ever uttered as a human. And now he was something more. 

Will watched him as he easily scooped up Bedelia and placed her in her chair. He then walked around the table and gestured to the chair for Will. He moved with grace as he strolled across the room and around the table, sitting where Hannibal wanted him to. As the meal went on, Will grew more and more anxious. He was becoming hungrier by the second, and having Bedelia around was like dangling a steak in front of a starving lion. He kept away from her though, staying in his chair even as his energy threatened to get the better of him. His fingers were fidgeting, his leg was bouncing. He was craving, and if he were anything like Hannibal when he turned, his hunger would be near insatiable. Hannibal didn't think he would care if Will drained Bedelia at this point. He found himself paying more attention to Will than to the meal. Though it would be a shame to let a good meal go to waste. Will's eyes suddenly flitted to his, a wild look in them that calmed the moment he saw him. He lifted his fork to his mouth, a slow calculated movement that Hannibal couldn't help but watch. 

After dinner, Will was standing by the door, his eyes wandering everywhere but stopping when they found Hannibal. 

"There's the whole world out there for you." Hannibal stepped closer, dropping his voice. "Who do you want?"

The edges of Will's lips twitched. 

They left Bedelia's at ten. They found Freddie at midnight. What Freddie was doing out and about at midnight, he didn't know. He sank into the trees near the path that Freddie walked, leaning on one of them in the darkness. Will caught up to Freddie easily, falling in step next to her. Freddie turned, seeing who was there and then jumped. Her back was turned to him, but her posture was tense. Her red hair shone in the moonlight, nearly black. She wore a leather coat with fur on the collar on sleeves, black pants, and a set of black heels.

"Will," She let out a breath. But her heart was thundering. "I thought-" She took a step back from him. "We thought-"

"Thought what, Freddie?" Will stepped forward, his voice smooth and dangerous. She stepped back again. Every step she took, he matched. 

"We thought you were dead." She continued stepping back, her heels crunching on fallen leaves. "We saw the film. The video. You and Hannibal. You went off the cliff." Freddie then straightened herself and he would see Will's excitement. "If you lived, I suppose that means Hannibal lived too."

Will hummed. "It's a shame you won't be able to write about it."

Freddie turned to run, but Will caught her. His grasp was stronger now, Freddie wasn't going anywhere. That wasn't for lack of trying though. She backed away, first trying to scramble from his grasp, then going on the offensive. She hit and clawed at his chest, tearing the top buttons on his shirt. The buttons went flying, landing on dirt and concrete. Will didn't seem to care. There was a wild hunger in his eyes and Freddie was only making it worse. He let her go and she dropped to the ground, her momentum propelling her backward. She scrambled away on her hands, as Will stalked forward slowly. One foot in front of the other he followed her frantic movements. Will's heartbeat was steady, and his scent became stronger, more chaotic and filled with power. His every movement was careful, stalking his prey. Freddie turned, trying to push herself from her hands to her feet and run. Will let her, but she didn't run far. Will's speed was increased now, and he was suddenly in front of her. She yelped and opened her mouth to scream more but Will seemed to be done playing with his food.

Hannibal sucked in a breath. Will's face was hidden from him, but he knew what was happening. He knew Will's new fangs extended and he sank them into Freddie's neck. Her mouth was frozen in a silent scream as Will pulled her forward, gripping his prey. Freddie tried to fight him but the more blood he drained, the weaker she became. She gave one last shove on his chest, a feeble attempt to break away. But it didn't work. Her hands went limp, first resting on Will's chest and then falling to her sides. Her head lolled back, her eyes rolled back into her head. Her heart slowed until the beats became uneven. It pushed whatever was left in her system slowly as Will's heart began to speed. One more pathetic beat and Freddie Lounds was dead. 

Will dropped her unceremoniously, studying her body. Hannibal watched him for a moment longer as Will stared.

He cleared his throat from the shadows. Will's head shot up, his eyes searching and then suddenly focusing on him. Some like him, like them, were so lost in the hunt that they would attack anyone else who neared. Will's eyes narrowed on him and he walked toward Hannibal. His body language was so intense, Hannibal wondered for a second if he was in danger. But Will stopped directly in front of him. There was still a hint of blood on his lips and Hannibal couldn't help himself. He ran his thumb over the other's lips and raised it to his own, sucking the blood from his thumb. Will watched the action with interest, the wild look returning to his eyes once more. But this wasn't the hunger Hannibal had felt when he killed Freddie. This wasn't the hunger when he was trying so hard not to drain Bedelia. This was a different hunger. A hunger Hannibal was all too familiar with when it came to Will.

Will caught his hand as he removed it from his mouth and stepped closer, their hands hovering in the air. He was trapped in Will's eyes, as the other stepped closer. 

"I love you." Hannibal felt himself blink at Will's words. "I tried to tell you that night." Hannibal didn't need to ask which night Will was referring to. He too returned to that night in the kitchen several times, trying to rewrite the past but it never worked. "There was so much I wanted to tell you but I just couldn't say it." He sighed. "And then seeing you again after three years. It all came back. Every door I tried to keep shut swung open again." Will stepped closer, the small distance between them gone. He let go of Hannibal's hand and pressed his hand to the side of his face, as Hannibal had once done to him. "I choose you, Hannibal."

Hannibal's throat was tight with emotion. He grasped Will's face, pulling him closer. Their lips met and Will sighed into their kiss. He turned them, pushing Will against the tree next to them. Will wrapped his arms around him, holding him tightly. 

"I love you," Hannibal whispered against his lips. He kissed Will's cheek. "I love you." He kissed his forehead. "I love you." He kissed his neck, his shoulder, his arms, all the while repeating his 'I love yous' like a mantra.

Will pulled him back, their lips meeting once again. "Hannibal."

"Will." 

They ground together, pawing at each other like teenagers. Hands roamed over every place they could reach until his hands reached Will's chest, feeling the torn buttons. He broke away from their kiss and turned, looking at the body on the ground. Will looked as if he were going to protest before he followed Hannibal's gaze.

"What will you do with her?" Hannibal asked. 

Will hadn't let him go, one of his arms draped over Hannibal's shoulder as he leaned his head back against the tree. "I have an idea."

They returned to Bedelia's house in the morning. The fanfare over Freddie's death would begin soon, but neither of them could be bothered to care. Will followed him through the house once again until they returned to the room where he had sat vigil over Will's body. The door closed softly behind him as he deposited his suit jacket onto a chair. He turned, facing the other once more. Will had thought him beautiful, but when he thought of beauty, it was Will. The dark curls on his head, his vibrant ocean colored eyes, the constant scruff around his jaw, the knowing looking in his eyes, and the way he moved, not wanting to be noticed but craving to be known. There was no one better that he knew, and no one better who knew him. 

Will stalked closer, much like he had done with Freddie before, a wild, playful light in his eyes. It reminded him of the day Will came to see him, the day he broke him free from the hospital. A lazy smile crossed the other's face before he raised both hands and pushed Hannibal backward, sending him onto the bed. Hannibal's heart started to speed, and Will knew it too. His gaze became more playful with the hungry light right underneath it. An animal waiting to pounce. He adjusted himself on the bed as Will followed climbing up his body on his hands and knees. He stopped, settling above Hannibal's hips. His hands ran the length of Hannibal's shirt before Will tore it open. Hannibal was entranced. Will leaned forward, burying his face in Hannibal's neck. He heard the other inhale, breathing in the scent distinctly Hannibal.

"Did you just smell me?"

Will laughed, his hand running up Hannibal's chest and cupping the other side of his neck. "Difficult to avoid." Will adjusted himself, pressing against him. "Incredibly difficult."

He knew what Will was experiencing, he was experiencing it himself. Having the other this close, Will was the only person he could see, hear, touch, feel. His scent intoxicated him, drew him in, called to him. He pushed the other up for a moment, sitting up to pull off his now ruined shirt. Will followed suit, tearing his shirt the rest of the way off and tossing it aside. His arms wrapped around Hannibal, one hand cupping the back of his neck. 

"Can I?" Will asked, his breath coming harder against his neck. 

"Yes," Hannibal's answer came out as a whisper. 

They were still sitting up, Will straddling his lap. He wrapped Will tighter in his arms, turning his head to expose his neck. He had never been in this position. He didn't remember the night he was turned, but this was different. Then he wasn't willing. Now he wanted nothing more. Will kissed his neck and his breath caught in his throat. He remembered a similar scenario, except their positions were reversed. He thought he might prefer it this way. Will kissed his neck again, before sucking the skin lightly. He could feel Will's fangs descend before they sank into the skin of his neck. He moaned, unashamed, as pleasure coursed through him. Will pressed closer, taking greedily what Hannibal offered. He turned his head, kissing the skin on Will's shoulder. The other pulled away for a second, whispering his name, and then pressing his head forward, closer to his shoulder.

_Please._

He couldn't deny him. There was nothing he wouldn't give him, even when it was Will offering something. His fangs descended, sinking into the skin of Will's shoulder. His blood exploded into his mouth. If he thought Will's blood was intoxicating before, he didn't know what to think now. He found himself trying to pull Will closer as if that were possible. They were pressed against each other, Will at his neck and Hannibal at his shoulder. One of his hands was cupping the back of Will's head holding him in place just as Will held him in place. He could feel himself spinning, rolling back and forth between his mind and Will's. He could barely even think. All he knew was that Will, his Will, was in his arms. And he was never letting go again. Will ground against him, his hips rolling. They withdrew at the same time, heads turning and lips meeting. 

His heart thundered in his chest, propelled by Will's blood and the feeling of the other so close to him. He could feel Will's need, mixing with his own until he couldn't tell what belonged to him and what belonged to Will. He belonged to Will and that was all he knew. Will's hands moved everywhere, feeling everything. He wasn't even certain his belt was in one piece after Will tore it off. They tore at their remaining clothes with fervor, not caring about the mess they would have to deal with later. Will's intense need was all he could feel. Will's need for him. 

Will pushed him back, sitting above him for a moment, his eyes roaming everywhere. His fingers trailed up his side, resting over the bullet wound. It was almost completely healed now. Will's fingers danced over his skin. Hannibal reached to the bedside table, opening a drawer and pulling out something he had stashed inside. It was impulsive and presumptuous, but his foresight was always a welcome ability. Will wasted no time snatching the bottle from his hands. He moaned as Will poured the lube onto his hand and began stroking Hannibal's cock. His back arched, as Will pumped. He could feel the other's satisfaction at undoing him with only his hand, but he wasn't going to stop there. 

Will shifted his hips, maneuvering them how he wanted. They both moaned as Will sank. Hannibal was buried within him and Will's head was thrown back, his lips parted.

 _Beautiful._ It was Hannibal's turn to let the word pass between them.

Will rolled his hips, lifting himself up and back down. He watched every movement Will made, the way his body moved. His face was still turned toward the ceiling, his hands were resting on Hannibal's abdomen. Hannibal grabbed his hips, his fingers digging into the flesh and feeling bone. He thrust upward, meeting Will's every move. He heard the slap of skin on skin, but he was jumping between his and Will's minds. Their pleasure snowballed together as Will rode him his movements becoming faster and more demanding. He couldn't help but match him, his need as demanding as Will's. His back arched in pleasure. Will's hands moved and grasped his wrists, digging into the skin on the underside. He turned his wrists, grabbing Will's hands and pulling him down. Their lips met once more. Will buried on of his hands in Hannibal's hair. Hannibal mirrored him, only pulling Will's head back and kissing his throat as he moaned. Will's hips continued moving up and down as Hannibal reached between them with his free hand, grasping Will's untouched cock. Will groaned, dropping his head to Hannibal's shoulder. 

Their bodies met as Will rode and Hannibal thrust. He kept one hand fisted in Will's hair, the other stroking his cock. Hannibal rolled them until he was on top. He thrust into Will, the other arching against him. He wanted more. He needed more. He needed Will to come undone because of him. He needed. Will wrapped his legs around his waist, meeting every thrust of Hannibal's. Will ran his hand through Hannibal's hair before trailing his hand down Hannibal's arm. He let go of Will's hair and met his hand. Their hands clasped, pressing into the bed next to them. Their lips met again, his thrusts became more insistent. Will moaned against his lips as he took his other hand and wrapped it around Hannibal's. Every movement they made complimented the other's, every breath they took was in sync. Will arched against the bed, his grip on Hannibal's hand becoming tighter. 

Hannibal began to thrust harder, faster, losing himself in the action. Will rolled his hips to meet him.

"Hannibal, please." Will's voice was barely above a whisper. 

He could feel him nearing the edge and dragging Hannibal along with him. He whispered his name like a prayer, his eyes fluttering closed as his orgasm neared. He pressed his lips to Will's, trying to force everything he'd left unsaid into to the kiss. He had been foolish, stupid, and downright idiotic. He had left so much between them, assumed too much. Maybe if he had just run when Will told him, Will could have caught up to him in Florence. Maybe if he had taken Will with him instead of Bedelia, Will could have explained. The result was the same, though, whether it was there years ago or now. Will was here, in his arms. Will had turned, he was like him. 

Will's body tensed and he gasped against Hannibal's mouth. His other hand, not in Hannibal's, moved to his shoulders, gripping for purchase. Will's body arched as he orgasmed, spilling over Hannibal's hand. Hannibal followed almost immediately. His forehead was pressed against Will's, both of them lost in their pleasure and each other. Will hummed, his free hand running through Hannibal's hair. 

After a moment, they pulled apart, moving to the bathroom to clean themselves. It was a lazy, shared task that wasn't done with urgency. Will's eyes were still glazed over. They half dragged each other back to the bed falling with little grace back onto it. The moment he had the chance, Will started carding his hand through Hannibal's hair again. Hannibal ran a hand over Will's arm and Will shifted, their lips meeting once again. The kiss was softer, less hunger but the same amount of passion behind it. When they pulled apart again, Will moved closer, his eyes dancing over Hannibal's face and then focusing on something behind him. Hannibal turned, following Will's gaze to the picture he had left next to him. 

"'Achilles wished all Greeks would die, so he and Patroclus could conquer Troy alone.'" Will's eyes landed on him once again. "It's just us now."

"Then I suppose we'll have to conquer Troy alone."

Will pressed a kiss to his lips again, before settling into the bed, his arm draped over Hannibal's side. Hannibal draped his arm over Will. The other was tucked under his chin. It wasn't long before his breathing evened out. Will fell asleep still clutching Hannibal.

Hannibal closed his eyes, entering his mind palace.

Hannibal found himself sitting in the Norman Chapel. It was quiet, peaceful. Sun filtered in through the windows, illuminating everything around him. He let out a breath, looking at the apostles on the walls, Jesus watching all, the intricate patterns and designs on the walls and floors. His eyes followed one of the chapel's arches until they landed on something, or rather someone, else.

Will. 

He wore a light blue suit with a white shirt. His legs were crossed and he sat leaning toward Hannibal. 

"You think too much," Will said as he bathed in the sunlight from the window. The sun gave his hair a halo. It was blasphemous, to have his god here in a chapel to someone else. 

Hannibal smiled. 

He was there, in Hannibal's mind palace. It had now become a shared space for them both, no longer his but rather theirs. Will sighed, feeling the sun on his face. Hannibal sighed, leaning his head back and closing his eyes too. They had eternity now, just them. He reached over, finding Will's hand already extended toward him. Their hands clasped and Hannibal knew that whatever happened tomorrow or the day after that or years after that, it would be him and Will. He wasn't normally the sentimental type. But Will was his and he was Will's.

He awaited eternity.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to come yell at me on [Tumblr](https://neurowriter14.tumblr.com/) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/NWriter14)


End file.
